Even In Dreams
by Society's Cavity
Summary: Darkhearted Damien has been haunting Pip's dreams for nearly nine years, and Pip is bent on ending the nightmare. However, when the two are finally reunited in an explosive encounter, Pip realizes he needs a lot more closure than previously thought.
1. Bitter Reunion

**South Park** and its character belong to Matt Stone, Trey Parker, Comedy Central, and a host of other people who are not me. I own only the mental illness that enabled me to write this story.

* * *

It wasn't my fault... he kept coming back. At first I was scared... I kept waiting for that _look_, that fire in his eyes that meant searing flesh, burning agony, and the stinging deception that always crept its way into my nightmares. The first few times it happened I made an honest effort to avoid him... but when I realized that his eyes never sought mine out, regardless of whether or not I was hiding behind the nearest rubbish bin, the feeling turned to hurt. Had he forgotten me? There was no sign at all of recognition in his facial expressions or body language, and I was always watching out for one. I made excuses to bump into him on the street, waiting for some hint that he felt remorse – or humor, even, I was that desperate for a reaction – over the calamity that was our short-lived friendship... but there was nothing. Eventually, my attitude towards the whole matter became impatient frustration. Did he _honestly_ think he could keep coming back to this town that hated him and ignore – _forget_ about _apologizing_ to – the one person who didn't?

It wasn't my fault. It was his own arrogance that led me back to him.

**Chapter One — Bitter Reunion**

By fourteen, I had begun to seek him out. It was no longer enough to be annoyed at his frequent reappearances. I needed closure, or at least the chance to exorcize myself of the phantom that had haunted me for the last six years of my life. He proved, however, to be surprisingly elusive. It was one thing to catch a glimpse of him at the movie theater and another thing entirely to attain an address or phone number. I had no last name, nor the names of any family or friends – anyone he could be staying with. I listened out for hints, asked around for clues, but it seemed as though I was the only one who noticed him... who even _remembered_ him. I wasn't subtle; if I caught sight of him on the street I would give chase, but then he would vanish behind a cluster of people, the corner of a building, and that would be it. Gone without a trace. By seventeen, I was completely obsessed with finding him. A sinister coincidence had turned into habitual torture, and I needed just one opportunity to ask him why.

"You know something, Pip... you're fucking insane."

I gave a startled jump and fought the unpleasant sensation of my stomach leaping into my throat. I whipped around to see Wendy standing behind me, a stack of library books in her arms and a satisfied smile at having scared me shitless on her face. "I know you're not looking for _my_ phone number in there."

I let out a small sigh and couldn't help but smile at her. I couldn't get angry at Wendy. "Think of it as a hobby. It sounds less unhealthy that way." I closed the phone book in front of me and resigned myself to another lecture from Wendy. "Pull up a chair." She gladly obliged.

The circular library table was set for six people, but between me and Wendy the entire thing was completely covered in books. "I was just in here picking up a few—" (I couldn't help laughing) "—books on the upcoming physics project... you've got Edwards, too, don't you? You might have a few of these books yourself beneath all these directories." She shot me a grin that I returned with a bored exhale. "I spotted you among the regulars and decided I'd say hi."

"Well, that's a relief. So I suppose, now that we've gotten _that_ out of the way, you can—"

"What happened to you, Pip?" Wendy moaned, shoving some of my books out of the way so that she could prop her elbows up on the table and rest her head in her hands. I wouldn't have bothered, personally, but Wendy always had a strange reverence for books. "You used to be so _nice_."

I raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

Wendy shook her head a little. "Not that you're as much of an asshole as the _other_ boys at school, of course... you're just _so_ bitter."

"I had underwear yanked up my ass on a consistent basis my entire elementary school life. I'm entitled to a little bitterness." Wendy giggled.

"I miss your accent, too. You would've said 'arse.'"

I rolled my eyes and let out a long breath, drumming my fingers loudly on the table. I was beginning to get impatient. "I'd hate to sound like I have something more important to do, Wendy, because I really don't, but I'm just not in the mood for your reminiscent lamentations."

"Oh, and that precious little hat you always had on—"

"I'm leaving."

"No, Pip!" Wendy cried, jumping up and making a wild grab for my arm as I pushed myself out of my chair and started for the door. I'd be back tomorrow to pick up after myself. "Don't go; I was only screwing around with you. I have something to tell you." I glanced back at her with hesitant eyes, but I couldn't say no to her, sprawled desperately over the table and her precious books like that.

"I swear to god, Wendy, if it's about that bow tie I used to wear..." Wendy smiled up at me and released her hold on my arm, sliding back down into her seat and brushing herself off.

"Cross my heart." I sat back down politely enough, organizing the books she had scattered everywhere into neat little piles while she performed some girly hand ritual over her chest that I hadn't seen since fifth grade. "It's about Damien."

I knocked over one of my piles in an involuntary spasm. My breath caught painfully in my throat; if Wendy wanted my attention, she had it all now.

"Yeah..." She spoke with an air so casual it was actually patronizing. "I was at the high school in Middle Park for the arts festival, real letdown, but I heard these two boys talking about a 'Damien.' He sounded like yours... dark, vicious, socially inept... Well, I'm not painful to look at, you know, and it wasn't hard to get information out of them. I mean, I don't know if he's the one you're looking for, of course, Damien isn't _that_ uncommon a name, but he's registered at Middle Park under the name 'Damien Hawthorne,' if you're interested."

I was out that door so fast I didn't even have the time to offer her a "thank you."

o o o

If he was registered, actually _registered_ somewhere, there had to be a family, an address, a phone number... even if they weren't real. You couldn't just show up for class one day and expect the school to be cool with it. I had something solid now, something tangible. I made a mental note as I was bicycling through town just after nightfall to buy Wendy something expensive for her birthday.

There was the unpleasant possibility that it might not be the right person... but my brain rejected the idea. This boy had followed me through the years, intentionally or not, and there was no way it wasn't him. It had to be. It _had_ to be. I had never come this close to tracking him down... it couldn't be a false lead. It would be too cruel.

I came to a stop at the gate around the high school – padlocked, of course, but I wasn't slowed down in the least. You spend years jumping fences to avoid another ass-kicking and you get pretty damn good at it. I leaned my bicycle against the fence and leapt up, grabbing a fistful of chain link and hoisting myself up over the enclosure. The descent wasn't quite as graceful, but the stinging went away after a few moments. What took longer was finding an open window in the building... I wasn't stupid enough to hope that one of the doors had been left unlocked. I found her towards the back of the building on the first floor, which was fortunate for me, as I was never much of an acrobat and probably would've killed myself trying to get up a tree or scale the wall. _Whump_. Yeah... good, headfirst landing on the floor. It was carpeted, at least.

It took me about half an hour to find the administrative office. The school wasn't particularly large, but I'm a little directionally impaired and ended up at the second story bathrooms about ten times. I picked the lock with a nifty little skeleton key I'd nicked from a janitor's closet a few years back. Never know when you're going to need somewhere to hide.

The file cabinets I found near the back of the office, and I was so giddy with excitement it was becoming painful to breathe. Anything... anything with his name on it would satisfy me. A school directory, registration records, a bus schedule... I pulled out a miniature flashlight from my back pocket and started tearing open drawers, flipping hurriedly through folders. It's not like I didn't have all night, but the adrenaline rush was getting to me... I'd been waiting for this moment for years... I was finally about to track down the boy that had been fucking with my head for the last half of my life...

I came across the name on a manila folder in the third cabinet I'd searched through, and my heart gave an uncomfortable jump. _Damien Hawthorne_. I ripped the folder out of the drawer and gripped it so tightly the sides began to wrinkle. The school wouldn't miss it... I began to tremble so badly that I had to hold out a hand against the wall to support myself. I didn't even know what the folder was... hell, it could be a detention record... but it was _mine_, tangible _proof_ that he wasn't just some sick figment of my imagination, that—

"You know... I'm pretty sure that's considered stalking."

If I'd had a full bladder, that would've been the end of those pants. Fortunately, all I did was jerk in shock and drop both the flashlight and the folder. I felt papers hit my legs and feet, and the flashlight flickered out violently the moment it hit the floor, but I couldn't move. I was frozen solid. Who... who was...?

"Don't worry," the voice assured me, its owner bending down to retrieve the dropped folder. "I'm not gonna bust you." But that wasn't what I was worried about.

_Don't_... _don't look_... The flashlight might have been out, but there was still enough light from the windows to adjust to. My eyes were beginning to already, and who knew how long he'd been in the office. _Please don't look at the folder_...

"Here." The folder was returned to my arms, and I finally summoned the courage to look up at the person who had so nonchalantly caught me in the act. I couldn't make out any distinctive features, but I could make out the general build: lean and gawky. _Oh_... _he's just_... _just a student_.

"Wh—" I tried to force out, my hands trembling. "Wh-what are you doing here?" He cocked his head to the side and I could see a smile reflected in the moonlight; I clutched the folder tightly to my chest.

"Nothing that would interest you, I'm sure... but I could ask _you_ the same question." His confident tone was beginning to make me nervous, as was his apparent comfort in the off-bounds office. "Those are confidential files, you know... are you looking for a boy's phone number or something? Pretty ballsy for a chick, sneaking in here like this so late at—"

"I'm a boy, thanks," I corrected indignantly, ditching the stutter. What sort of idiot would mistake me for a girl? But the guy didn't seem at all abashed. On the contrary, he started to laugh.

"Yeah," he confessed, making himself comfortable on a nearby desk. "I thought you looked a little too masculine. The hair, though, I thought maybe..." He snorted through his nose, apparently amused. "Well, to be honest, I'd just rather it be a girl sneaking in here to get a glimpse of my records."

No... my heart thudded in my chest. No way...

"Y-you... _you're_ Damien?!" I stammered, stutter back in full force. No time for subtlety; I threw discretion to the wind and grasped frantically for my flashlight. I had to readjust the head and pound clumsily at the _ON_ button a few times, but then he was bathed in artificial illumination and I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach. That was the face... that was the face that had been the subject of my nightmares for years. The hair, the skin, the eyes were perfect... if it wasn't him it was the cruelest coincidence I'd ever experienced. And yet... where was that aura he used to carry about him? And the stoic manner of speech? It didn't make sense.

"Yeah," he responded, tilting his head back in a bored fashion. He didn't even flinch at the light in his eyes. "And it's nothing personal, man, but I don't really do the guy-on-guy thing... you're cute, but I just can't get on board with the whole ass-ramming affair." I could feel my cheeks burning.

"I didn't come here to get my _ass rammed!_" I fumed, furious that I had finally found him, had him all alone with no one for miles to hear me scream, and this is how it was happening. "I came here to prove to myself that you weren't just some twisted hallucination, some childhood memory that kept materializing in front of me as some sick psychological torture device!"

The surprise on his face at my words was genuine. "I... do I _know_ you?"

If my cheeks were burning before, they were flaming now. "You really can't remember me? You have _no_ recollection whatsoever?" The blankness in his eyes was answer enough for me, but he made it worse for himself.

"I think you've got the wrong guy, kid."

I was on top of him so fast I can't even remember jumping on the desk, but there I was, with his collar tight around my fist and hatred flooding through my veins. "You've got the same eyes," I breathed. "And you've got the same face. You keep coming back... you keep coming back to this piss ant county, and it's been driving me fucking insane for the past nine years of my life. How can you show up here again and again and not remember me?" My grip on his collar loosened slightly, but the resentment on my face didn't ebb. "_I_ know who you are." And he knew by the look in my eyes that I wasn't referring to his name.

But then... his response was all wrong. He wasn't shocked or surprised at all, and certainly didn't show any sign of discomfort. He just smiled up at me, a grateful quality in those beetle-black eyes. "Well, that's a relief. If you've kept quiet for nine years, guess you can keep quiet for a little longer."

I felt it before it even happened... the too-familiar sensation of fire in your stomach, your abdomen, your chest... your skin being ripped apart... your organs being torn to shreds... your melting eyes streaming down your cheeks... but maybe those were only tears. He only looked at me; he didn't have to say a word, didn't have to move a muscle, but I was thrown off of him and into the nearest filing cabinet in one powerful motion that only took a second. As I slid down to the floor I felt a wetness at the back of my head that could only be blood. "I told you," he hissed, everything about his presence suddenly familiar again, "that I didn't do the guy-on-guy thing. Some people just don't take 'no' for an answer." He hopped off the desk gracefully and stepped over to me, bending down to eye-level. At first, I thought he might touch me, but instead he grabbed the folder I'd come all this way for. "As it so happens, I was here for the same thing as you tonight. I had no idea you'd put up such a fight for it."

_No_... _no, you can't_... "N-no," I pleaded in a weak voice. It hurt like hell... I was so dizzy. I had no idea how much blood I was losing. "I... spent too long... looking... for this..." He parted his lips in a mocking smile as he straightened back up and started flipping through his folder to ensure that all of his documents were in it. "You c-can't just... go... again..." I was ashamed of the tears that were streaming down my face and prayed that he only thought they were a result of the pain. "I have... to know why..."

He raised an eyebrow and glanced away from the folder to look at me. "Why what?" My head was spinning... his words sounded as though they were being broadcast from a thousand miles away.

"Why you keep... coming back..." The taste of salt filling my mouth was insult to injury. "Why I keep seeing you here... and why..." My vision started sliding in and out of focus about then; it was distracting. "Why you can't... remember... why you don't... feel remorse... over fucking up the... o-one kid who... d-didn't hate you..." Clumps of blonde hair were starting to stick to my cheeks and lips, but I didn't have the energy to push them away.

"... you're pathetic." But I swear I saw something almost like pity flash across his face. "I come back to this place because my father spilt blood here. The ground is distinctly unholy... I'm comfortable here, more so than anywhere else. But I can't linger anywhere for too long, kid... I lose the asset of being untraceable. I realize now what a mistake I made by staying here any longer than a month. People like you expect things of me I can't give... you want mercy, blondie? Whatever I've done to you can't be as bad as what I've done to hundreds of others; you're still alive." For some reason, that made me sob harder. "Still..."

Hope flared in my chest and eased the pain, if only slightly. "Still...?"

He smiled, a sad sort of grin that I wouldn't think him capable of. "I can't afford to be as stupid as I was then. I'm kidding myself if I think no one will question your death, and – injury alone – people will ask about that nasty gash... you're bleeding everywhere." He pocketed the folder and bent down on his knees, grabbing me beneath my arms and hoisting me up. "We're going to the hospital, and you're going to tell them that you were robbed on the street; we'll leave the blood for the janitor... there isn't anything they can prove. Come tomorrow, neither of us will have any affiliation with this place."

He hauled me to his car (borrowed from his "father," James) and propped me up in the passenger's seat; as a precaution, he also planted my bike at the place of my "assault." We drove all the way to the hospital in complete silence, but my mind was reeling with questions I didn't have the energy to ask. Despite what he had said, this seemed exactly like mercy to me. If, as he had implied, he would be gone by morning, what could they have possibly done to him if they _had_ found me dead in that office? Maybe I was just flattering myself... I certainly didn't have my wits about me.

The car rolled to a stop in a non-parking zone, probably because Damien wasn't thrilled by the prospect of carrying me halfway across the parking lot. Even during the ten yard walk to the front door he made a point of complaining loudly about how heavy I was. He was relieved of his burden as soon as we stepped in the door, dripping blood. I lost him after that; I heard him telling the faculty members that had rushed to greet us that his name was Jim Hawthorne and that he'd seen me lying on the street with a serious head wound and couldn't in good conscience leave me there. I was smiling when they loaded me onto a stretcher and wheeled me into the ER.

I wondered, as I lay half-conscious on a little white hospital bed after the stitches, an IV in my arm, whether or not I was satisfied. I had accomplished what I'd set out to do since I was young... I had found him, spoken to him, and now I had my answers. I knew why he came back, and I knew why he left as abruptly. Perhaps it had been foolish to hope that he would have remembered me, but had he not among hundreds of others shown _me_ pity? Wasn't that everything I had wanted? And if so... then why was I so devastated over the fact that by morning the name Hawthorne would mean nothing to me, that he would be gone again?

Around one o'clock, if it wasn't just a dream, he showed up in my room.

"Hey, kid..." He had that cocky grin on again, that grin that made him almost unrecognizable. "Thought you deserved a proper good-bye before I skipped town... you went through a lot of shit just to get a hold of me." _Yeah_... _I did_. "It's too bad about your hair... just wear a hat or something. I swear I'll come back and kill you if you cut the rest off." I smiled at him even though I shouldn't have given him the satisfaction. I could vaguely make out the boy I'd befriended a lifetime ago. He hadn't changed, really... still an asshole, still irrational, but still charming. "It's prettier than any girl's."

I don't know how long he stayed after I fell asleep, but when I woke up he was gone. A nurse came in shortly afterward and informed me that my procedure would be covered by Mr. Hawthorne but that she needed my name to contact my parents. "Testaburger," I lied softly, and I could see the nurse fight back a laugh at the name. Oh well; joke was on her.

I wondered what Wendy would say when I told her I was going to start wearing my hat again.


	2. Mixed Messages

**Chapter Two — Mixed Messages**

"That was stupid," the dark-haired boy in the mirror chastised me. I'd taken a recent fondness to talking to myself.

"Yeah, well... the kid remembered me; he was miles away from his home looking for me in Middle Park's administrative office. And really... it's not like one little show's gonna change anything."

"Dad's gonna be pissed when he finds out."

"Let him be."

"And dragging that kid to the hospital..."

I grinned at my reflection. "He was cute. How many humans get that worked up over someone who exited their life nine years ago?"

"Maybe you fucked the little queen and don't even remember it."

"Maybe." I licked my lips. "He's pretty enough to pass for a girl. It's a mistake anyone could have made."

"Dad would be proud."

"Doubt it. He'd probably mistake the fag for a girl, too."

"Not everyone's as obtuse as you."

I laughed, then. I hadn't mistaken those skinny legs or that crooked nose for a girl's. It was only the hair; the hair was the only thing remotely feminine about the guy. I couldn't imagine fucking an elementary school kid over some pretty hair... because I wasn't lying when I turned the guy down in the office. I didn't get the thrill in anal sex. Maybe I'd just walked in on it too many times as a kid.

Besides... wouldn't all that hair get in the way of his pillow biting?

"You think he'll listen to my advice?"

"And keep what's left of that blonde mop after having half of it shaved off to accommodate the stitches? Not unless he's as in love with you as you seem to think."

I laughed even harder.

o o o

Damien was wrong. By morning, _he_ didn't have any affiliation with Middle Park High or Park County Hospital, but I sure as hell did.

The hospital ran a check on the Testaburger records after realizing that the dark-haired dark-eyed girl who came in as my "sister" did not in the least resemble my pale-haired pale-eyed self, and it came as no real shock to me when, during one of Wendy's tearful outbursts, she was roughly escorted from the wing and I was loudly lectured for lying about my identity. I continued, however, to withhold the surname of my foster parents.

It wasn't that I didn't want them informed; I loved them both, and I didn't want them worried over me... but we were far from financially stable, and I knew that the _real_ Jim Hawthorne would demand some kind of reimbursement once he discovered his most recent medical expenditure. I didn't know if there was anything he could legally do, Damien having already signed for him, but I was scared for my family. My primary fear was an expensive suit against fraud. Damien had put me in a terrible position that I hadn't been able to properly assess the night of the injury.

Later that day, after much failed probing and prodding, a doctor came in to take a DNA fingerprint; it was the only identification they could put on me. I felt guilty withholding information from the doctors who had literally saved my life, but I didn't know how else I was supposed to handle the situation Damien had saddled me with.

Then the really troubling news came: there was no James Hawthorne. The credit card number had been valid last night, the receptionist swore, but suddenly the account had ceased to exist – no record of cancellation, nullification, revocation... nothing. The "Hawthorne" family the dark-haired boy had alluded to simply _did not_ exist. There was, however, a school secretary from Middle Park swearing up and down that she'd had a student by the name of "Damien Hawthorne," though she failed to pull up any evidence of him ever having been at the school. Apparently Damien had pulled everything out of the computers, too. I wondered how someone so careful about his own identity could be so careless about mine... because that particular school _also_ mentioned a certain violence in the record office they had searched through, and had sent DNA samples to the hospital.

Well, naturally, they matched mine perfectly.

Late that night, the nurse who had reprimanded me for nearly twenty minutes straight came into my room to find me sobbing. The hardness in her face melted away and she situated herself tentatively in the chair at the end of my bed. "Who _are_ you?" she asked, bewildered.

"I-I... d-don't... kn-kn-know..." I couldn't stop crying, even though some completely strange woman was watching me do so. Everything had spun so out of my control. The nurse sighed, placing a hand on mine. My hiccuping sobs quieted a little.

"Then answer me this, if you can: who the bloody blazes was that boy who dropped you off here?"

I was so surprised to hear her swear that I actually stopped crying. She smiled a little. "I-I... I'm not sure I... kn-know that... either..." I wiped at my eyes with my sleeves. "'C-cause he's... n-not... r-r-real..." And then I burst into tears all over again. God, I was so pathetic... but what the hell had I done to deserve this? I'd been fucked up enough by this kid already. "H-he _is_ Damien H-hawthorne," I hiccuped, and the nurse's eyes widened to discover I knew the name. Like I couldn't hear them gossiping about me through my door? "H-he _w-was_..."

She rubbed my hand with hers, which I thought was rather dedicated as mine was dripping with tears and snot. "What were you doing in that office, boy?"

"M-my... n-name's Pip..."

"... Pip." She sighed again. "What were you doing in that office, Pip?"

I figured there was no point in denying that I'd been there last night; genetic _proof_ showed otherwise. "L-looking f-for... f-for _h-him_..." The nurse scowled.

"The boy that brought you here?"

"Y-y-yes."

"Was in that office?"

"Y-yes."

"But... Pip, I..." She frowned and took her hand away from mine. "The only human evidence in that room was _yours_. I don't mean to complicate this any further, dear, but... the only other hair follicles that were collected at the scene of the scuffle were canine."

I let out a cry so loud it sounded more like a howl, and the nurse immediately jumped out of her chair to wrap me up in an embrace, stroking me lovingly on the back. "There, there, dear..." I felt like such a chid. "You've been through a lot... try not to worry about it... we'll figure it out. Try and get some sleep, alright? We'll figure it out."

She left, then, but I knew that I wouldn't be able to sleep that night.

o o o

I guess I was still every bit as careless and stupid as I had been as a kid; the blonde brat ended up on television, sobbing like an idiot and begging the cameras to go away. I laughed at first, but thirty minutes after the news bulletin something was eating at me, and I knew that it was him. It was pathetic of me, really, feeling sorry for the asswipe, but I did. I guess I'd never had anyone cry over me before and there was bound to be some sort of consequent attachment. No, attachment wasn't the right word. Obligation. I felt an obligation to him. I guess that was somewhat less disgusting.

I grabbed my coat and slipped out of the motel room I'd been squatting in. I wondered indifferently how long the "Do Not Disturb" sign would keep the maids at bay.

o o o

I was more annoyed than anything else when I noticed the tapping against the wall outside. I had almost – _almost_ – fallen asleep before the sound jerked me into full consciousness, which would've been the first rest I'd gotten in two days. Crying was goddamn exhausting.

After the initial irritation ebbed, though, I realized that the clamor just below my window was probably not an indication of anything good, and I slipped off my bed to hit the _NURSE_ button. However, after five minutes of waiting, the nurses who had been waiting on me hand and foot failed to show up, and I began to worry that something really _was_ wrong. At the time, it seemed like closing the divider curtains around my bed and hiding under the sheets was the practical thing to do.

In retrospect, venturing outside to the Nurses' Station might have been a better plan.

I didn't spend much time cowering in my little white fortress. The tapping reached the window, a panel of reinforced plexiglass crashed to the floor, and then the sheets were ripped completely from my bed.

"Surprise."

Believe me, I was. I glanced up in shocked horror that rapidly turned to disgusted rage. "..._you!_"

_**SLAP!**_

To say he looked surprised at the glowing red mark on his cheek would be an understatement. I swear to god he stopped breathing. When he finally recovered enough from the shock to look me in the eyes, I met nothing but blatant astonishment. "Would you mind telling me...?"

"What the _hell_ are you doing here, Damien?!" I roared, leaping off the bed with my IV in tow as far away from him as I could get. Blood was pounding in my ears and cheeks. I don't know if I'd ever been so angry. "Do you have _any_ idea how much you have managed to _fuck up_ my life in the span of _two days?!_" He had the nerve to smile at that.

"Some idea, yeah. Saw you on the news. You cry like a girl."

"_Shut up!_"

"I came to rescue you."

The blood faded from my cheeks and my fists slowly unclenched. "What?" I didn't get it. Maybe it was some kind of lame practical joke... but he looked serious enough. "Why are you here?" I asked again, my voice hostile but calmer. He touched his cheek and grinned.

"If you promise not to _hit_ me again," he began smoothly, the grin never leaving his face, "I'll tell you."

The fact that he could smile at something other than my pain made me more confident about the situation. "... okay."

He took that as a thumbs-up to make himself comfortable, which meant flopping down on the hospital bed I'd abandoned as though it was his own. "For some reason," he orated to the ceiling, "I found myself feeling sorry for you. I don't know... maybe you're just so incapable of taking care of yourself that it seems unfair to bring you down any lower." I shot a contemptuous glare at him that he never saw. "It's not normal, you know. I don't usually feel bad about fucking up little girls." My glare intensified. "But you were actually looking for me. Even girls give up after the possibility of an easy shag is out of the picture. Nine years is a long time to cry over a boy you don't even know."

"I didn't _cry_ over you," I snarled defensively. "And I'm not in _love_ with you, either."

"Well... maybe I'm in love with you."

I didn't even have time to gape before he started howling with laughter. Jesus Christ, did he ever give _up_? I was beginning to think that it was for the best he couldn't remember me. The British fag angle had been bad enough when covered by Eric Cartman, but Cartman had never been my friend. I had liked the insensitive, tactless boy cackling on my hospital bed once. _How_ was beyond me. "If all you came here to do was torment me, I'm going back to bed. Believe me, I can fulfil that particular quota with or without your assistance." I did actually make for the other bed when he stopped me.

"No, stop, I'm serious. I feel bad about fucking you over like this. You weren't asking for it. I came to get you out of here."

I just stared at him for a moment, then to my IV, and then to the door that I would have expected to have been plowed down by the entire hospital staff by now. "Get me _out_ of here? What good is that going to do me? You'll leave me in a ditch somewhere and I'll freeze to death. That's how you seem to take care of your problems." He lifted his head up off the bed to look at me, but it was only with a mild hint of curiosity. He was excellent at disguising what he was thinking.

"No, that's how I tried to take care of you two nights ago. Now I feel bad for your sorry ass. I thought you wanted mercy?"

"I... I guess..."

"Well then what the fuck are you waiting for, kid? What else do you want from me?"

Good question. I didn't know. His face might not have betrayed any emotion, but frustration dripped from his voice, and I sympathized. I was frustrated, too.

"Pip."

He shook his head. "Pardon?"

"Pip." I took a tentative step forward. "My name's Pip. Don't call me 'kid' anymore." Damien smirked.

"That's one faggot-ass name."

"I know." I ripped the IV out of my arm, flinching. "That's what you used to say."

His grin faded slightly, and he looked as though he was contemplating something, but he gave it up after a second and plastered the smile back on. "Alright then." He gestured towards the window, which I could now see he'd burned a hole through. "Let's go, Pip."

o o o

He looked stupid in my coat. It could've been that his hospital pajamas peaked out from beneath it, it could've been that the coat itself was about five sizes too large for him, or it could've just been that he looked stupid regardless. But the kid had started complaining about the cold the second we reached the ground, and I didn't want him to die before we got back to the motel. He was like a pet now. A responsibility. It would be disappointing if I killed him off this soon.

"Here we are," I announced when we arrived within the Motel 6's vicinity. His eyes lit up at the prospect of a heated room, and in a boyish sort of way it was kind of pretty. "We're room number 714, just up the stairs." He didn't wait for an invitation; he raced ahead of me and up the rickety stairs like a kid on Christmas, his quickened breaths visible in the cold night air. I rolled my eyes and shouted up at him, "It's locked, dumbass!" He didn't seem to care. He waited patiently with a small smile while I climbed the stairs and approached the door. He might have been endearing to anyone else, but I was already annoyed and losing interest in him. Maybe he'd prove to be adept at housekeeping or gophering. Maybe he'd prove to be utterly useless and a huge waste of time. We'd see.

I unlocked the door and let him in first so I could lock it back up behind me. He dropped my coat on the floor and immediately went straight for the bed closest the door – to _my_ bed.

"Hey!" I shouted, throwing the room key on the counter. "No fucking way – that one's mine. Get off." He rolled over and looked up at me with a plea in his eyes. Jesus Christ.

"Oh, come on, Damien... I'm freezing my balls off."

"Out!" He just rolled back over. Growling, I contemplated simply blasting him off, but I'd already seen how well _that_ worked, so I stormed over and kicked him off myself.

"OUCH!"

I grinned at him from my bed. "The floor suits you." He groaned and put a hand to his ass before getting up and crawling into the second bed, shoes and all. I think he flipped me off in the process, but I wasn't really paying much attention.

"This one's warmer anyway," he grumbled. I laughed.

"That's because I'm made of ice."

"Entirely likely."

I noticed his smile as I reached over to turn off the light. I wasn't tired, but I hoped he was. Sleep would shut him up, at least for a little while. God knows we both needed that.

"Night, Damien," he whispered in a sing-song voice from his bed. I groaned.

"If you're going to act like this I _will_ kick you out and you _will_ freeze to death." He just giggled in response. He was obviously on the brink of sleep.

"No you won't; you love me."

I rolled my eyes and made for the door.

"Night, kid."


	3. Bloody Diamond

**Chapter Three — Bloody Diamond**

He was still asleep when I woke up, which I found odd as the clock on the night stand was flashing 12:02. Maybe he'd been up all night. I lifted my sheets to check for any serious injuries if that was in fact the case.

The skin around my inner elbow had bruised, and the IV puncture itself had bled a little in the night; there were a few pinpricks of red between the sheets, but that was it. I wasn't unfamiliar with the sight of blood, and something as minor as this didn't even alert my interest. As long as my organs were intact and my limbs were still attached, I was fine. Obviously Damien hadn't felt the impulse to mutilate me during the night, and that made me feel a little more positive about the situation.

I slid out from underneath the sheets I'd worked into a cocoon around my body and hoisted myself into a standing position, popping a few joints as I did. I cracked my knuckles just for good measure and hobbled over to the phone, the cold air an unwelcome change from the warmth of the bed that suddenly beckoned to me. I contemplated jumping back in, but I had to call my parents first. They would be worried out of their minds.

I dragged the phone as far as the cable would allow, then dialed and pulled the handset the rest of the way to the room's tiny bathroom to avoid waking up Damien. I'd just shut the door behind me when the answering machine picked up. I smiled at the sound of my own too-polite voice. _Hello, you've reached the McPherson household_. _We're currently unavailable to answer your call, but if you leave your name, number, and a short message, we'll get back to you as soon as we can_.

_Beep_.

"Hi, Mom, Dad... it's Pip... listen, I know it's been two days now, and I'm so sorry that I haven't been able to contact you... one of my friends is going through something really awful right now, and I've been too scared to leave him alone. I'm doing fine here, his mom's taking care of me, so don't worry about that. I'm not exactly sure what the number here is, but as soon as I find out I'll call you back so you'll have a way to contact me. I love you both, and hopefully I'll be home soon. Bye." Feeling a huge wave of relief having at least gotten _that_ out of the way, I crept out of the bathroom, hung up the phone, and replaced it on the night stand. Damien was still asleep.

It was so surreal... seeing him there, right in arm's reach, completely defenseless and unbridled by his waking spite and sarcasm. It was my own personal nightmare lying there, engrossed in dreams of his own. I still didn't understand what his motives were in bringing me here, but I wasn't ungrateful. I had a fighting chance now. Damien seemed quite capable of disabling electronics and destroying digital media, and if he could only rid the hospital of my genetic fingerprints and those stupid videos they'd taken of me... I could go home. I could go home and everything would be fine. I smiled at his sleeping form. It was easier to like him when he was like this; I could pretend that it really was his intention to help me.

My stomach let out a sudden growl and I clapped my hands over the offending region as if to quiet it, but Damien didn't seem to have noticed. I wondered whether he'd find it rude if I left to get breakfast without him, but something told me that if I waited for him to get up he'd just make another remark about my infatuation with him, and quite frankly I'd rather him find me rude. I pulled on his coat and the pants he'd discarded by his bed, realizing it probably wouldn't be a good idea to show up downstairs in flannel pajamas, and left the room after pocketing the key. I didn't trust Damien not to lock me out on some sadistic whim.

The breakfast room was still open; apparently late risers like me were the norm. A few other patrons were rummaging through the bagels and cereal boxes, but paused briefly to shoot me strange looks when I entered. _Oh, shit,_ I thought, reaching up instinctively to the back of my head. _My hair_... When a little girl pointed to the disapproving "_Shh!_" of her mother I felt my cheeks go up in flame. I scurried awkwardly over to the bar and grabbed anything that my half-functioning head registered as looking edible in addition to a handful of condiments and napkins, then left at a near-run. I could hear the little girl giggling and broke into a sprint. It shouldn't have been so embarrassing, really, but it brought back memories of a childhood I'd rather not have experienced. I was a little kid again while I ran up the stairs.

I paused when I reached Damien's door, but decided against entering. I was used to eating alone... eating in front of someone whom I hadn't been entirely convinced existed until two days ago would probably be too much for me to handle. I slid into a seated position against the motel's cement wall and poured my breakfast into my lap: a bagel, two slices of toast, an English muffin, and about ten packets of marmalade. I frowned; I hadn't gotten anything to drink.

"Here."

I jumped so violently I lost the bagel off the balcony. I managed to hold onto the rest and turned up to face Damien, who was grinning at me from the doorway and holding a glass of water. I accepted the glass with a quiet "thank you," then turned back to my lap, cheeks pink. I heard Damien close the door behind him and sit down next to me. I noticed as he stretched his long legs out over the cement balcony that he was wearing my pajama pants, which were about five inches too short for him. I couldn't help but laugh and looked up at him for some sort of explanation.

Damien had his eyebrows cocked, but his grin hadn't disappeared. "Well, you're wearing mine. I didn't want to come out in my boxers; you might get excited on me." I so expected the answer that I wasn't even offended. I just laughed again, oddly comfortable in his presence. He didn't seem _too_ worried about exciting me, anyway, because he had no reservation about grabbing the English muffin from my lap and taking a vicious bite out of it.

"I've got marmalade, you know," I offered, gesturing at my little pile. He swallowed and smirked.

"Do you have a knife?"

Oh. "Er..." He let out an unflattering snort.

"I think I'll be fine without the marmalade."

We ate in silence for about five minutes; he tapped his foot against the metal railing in tune to some silent song and I busied myself making a makeshift butter knife out of the back of one of my marmalade packets. I was about halfway through my second slice of toast when Damien got up, giving a jaw-popping yawn and heading wordlessly back into the room without me. Oh well. I shrugged and took a bite of my toast. It was still a step up from throwing me headfirst into a filing cabinet.

I stuffed the last bit of my food into my mouth and scooped up all the trash, getting up to find a rubbish bin. I found one a few doors over near the stairs. When I glanced down I noticed that a crow had found my abandoned bagel and was going at it noisily. I smiled and leaned against the railing to watch him. My parents hated the crows that tore open our garbage bags and littered the sidewalks with bits of rotten meat, but I'd always liked the birds. They were regal animals, really, almost haunting in the forests where they belonged... it was only in human society that they seemed awkward. _People_ picked through trash cans... how could you expect an animal not to? Eventually a noisy couple walked by and scared the crow away, and I sighed, turning around and heading back into the room. I slowed to a halt when I noticed Damien staring at me from his bed. I felt immediately self conscious. "What?" I asked slowly, suddenly aware of how heavy his coat was.

"I have something for you. And don't look at me like that, Christ. If I was going to kill you I'd have done it already." I didn't know whether or not to laugh, so I just stood there like an idiot and watched him rummage around in a paper bag at the side of his bed. When he surfaced, he was holding a little knit ski cap out to me. My hand immediately shot to my stitches.

"Oh... Damien... you didn't have to—"

"I told you, Pip," he started coldly, though he laughed a little on "Pip," and I frowned, irritated. "If you act like a little teenage girl around me I'll boot your ass. You don't have to be grateful for every little thing, at least out loud. Be a man, for Christ's sake. And cut out that stupid grin!" But I couldn't help it. His complete lack of sensitivity reminded me so much of the little boy he'd been all those years ago. "Oh, fuck... just take it!"

I caught the hat he threw at me and snickered at how easily aggravated he was. I wanted to say "thanks," but I didn't know how far I could push him without ending up dead, so I ran into the bathroom instead to try the cap on.

It was a nice hat... solid black wool. It would've looked better on Damien, I was sure, but it did do a nice job of concealing my stitches and the itching baldness that surrounded them. It looked quite nice, actually; I grinned at the reflection I usually grimaced at. And the fact that it was a gift – holy hell, a _gift_ – from Damien made it look even better. Maybe I was biased.

"You done modeling in there?" he called from the bedroom, and, smirking, I walked back out.

"Yeah... what do you think?" He pulled a face and shook his head.

"I think the hat looks ridiculous, and I really wish you'd take off my clothes, but your hair looks lovely." I beamed at him.

"I know that you lack the ability to feel human emotion, Damien, but..." I stroked the hat lovingly. "Thank you." He flinched at the words. "You're really not half bad for a psychological torture device."

He laughed dryly. "You have no idea."

o o o

Pip spent most of the day sleeping. He said he needed to catch up on two nights worth of sleep – nights spent in the hospital, he added with a look in his eyes that made it clear he was trying to make me feel guilty. Whatever. I let the kid sleep. I had things to do, anyway. For one, I had to take care of _him_; he needed clothes, toiletries, and probably some form of entertainment. I didn't know how quickly he'd get bored of the news I usually watched. More importantly, though, I needed to start constructing my next persona. I wasn't sure how I was supposed to go about leaving town with the kid in tow, but I figured I might as well start planning. I stopped by a travel agency on the way back from one of the department stores at which I'd been shopping for Pip and picked up some brochures. I wondered about Louisiana. The voodoo and constant drunkenness appealed to me.

Any plan for my near future, however, was blown promptly out of the water when I arrived back at the motel around nine to find Pip on his knees at the foot of his bed, scrubbing at a bloodstain even I could be proud of.

His eyes widened with horror the moment I walked in, and after an initial glance at me he bowed his head and glued his eyes to the floor. "I'm s-so sor-sorry," he sobbed, but I didn't see any tears on his face. "I-I t-tried to get to th-the b-bathroom, but I-I d-didn't m-make it." I realized with a horrible jolt of surprise that it wasn't just blood on the floor; it was vomit.

"Holy shit," I breathed in awe, throwing down my coat and bags and rushing to his side. "What the fuck happened? Are you alright?!" I don't know why I was so worried, but for some reason the sight of the little blonde cowering over his own bloody vomit filled my stomach with dread.

"I-I don't know," he responded, shaking his head. "My s-stomach hurts like h-h-hell... and I'm s-so thirsty... but I'll j-just p-puke all over your f-floor again..."

"Forget the floor!" I snarled, jumping up and grabbing a wax cup. "Shit, kid... Pip," I corrected myself. I didn't laugh this time. The name didn't seem funny anymore. I filled the cup up under the sink and thrust it at him. "You're sick... fuck... you're really sick." He glanced hesitantly at the cup in my hand.

"B-but I—"

"Jesus Christ!" I howled, grabbing his wrist and forcing the cup into his hand. "The carpet doesn't matter, and manners don't matter, and if you spew all over _me_ that's fine! Just drink the water! Fuck..." I buried my head in my hands. "Fuck... you need something to eat. I'll go find you a vending machine or something... just keep drinking, okay? It's okay if you have to puke. Just keep drinking. I'll be right back."

I rushed out the door with a heartbeat so heavy I could hear it in my ears. Why was I so scared for him? I'd nearly killed him the other day.

_And you saved him_, the reflection in a nearby window hissed at me.

Yeah. Yeah, I did. Because he would've done the same for me.

I found an ice cream cart outside of the motel's staff room, both of which were locked. Like hell that was going to stop me. I punched through the cart's glass and grabbed as many popsicles as I could carry. I grabbed a sundae cone, too, in case he felt good enough for it later. I hoped he wasn't allergic to nuts.

He let out a horrified gasp when I burst back through the door, pointing dumbly at my bleeding hands as if that would help somehow; I shook my head impatiently. "It's okay," I assured him, dumping the popsicles and ice cream into the bucket of ice on the counter. "I can fix this; I'm not human. _You_, however..." I grabbed a popsicle and walked over to him, bending down to sit next to him on the floor. He'd puked again, but at least he'd downed the water. That was something. I unwrapped the popsicle and handed it to him. "Eat this. Puking this up will hurt a lot less than puking up blood." He laughed and took the popsicle from my hand.

"Thank you," he muttered. His crying seemed to have stopped, though his eyes were still bloodshot and sunken.

"It's... no problem." Jesus I was bad at accepting gratitude. It just wasn't the sort of thing I was used to. Hell... _he_ wasn't the sort of thing I was used to. He nodded and took a small bite of the popsicle I'd handed him.

"Please fix your hands," he bid me politely after he'd finished eating, his voice no more than a soft whisper. "It'll make me feel better."

It was ridiculous. It was embarrassing, even. Normally I would have ripped my hands open at the request, just to be spiteful, just to see him vomit again out of fear... but I didn't want to spite the kid sitting across from me in a puddle of his own sick. For some disgusting reason I wanted to do as he asked;I _wanted_ him to feel better. So I shot him a smile and plucked the glass out of my hands and wrists and set the shards down next to his cup, each one of them glistening like bloody diamond. He seemed absolutely captivated by them, so I waited until his eyes were back on me to close up my wounds and heal the flesh.

An awed smile crept onto his pale face. "That was cool," he murmured.

"I'll do it for you again if you'll drink another cup of water."

We repeated the process six times before he finally passed out from exhaustion on the floor. I retrieved the pillow from his bed and propped it under his head, then plucked all the glass off the carpet. I didn't intend on throwing it away; the pieces made great toys. I just couldn't have him rolling over them in the night. Things like that I couldn't heal.

o o o

When I woke up it was still dark outside and I felt like I was dying. Maybe I was. At some point in the night I must have rolled onto my vomit, because I could feel it, sticky and slimy, on my cheek. I gave an empty heave then stood up shakily, making my way feebly to the bathroom. I flipped the light on and gave my tortured eyes a minute to adjust before turning on the sink and working at scrubbing the puke off my face with as much soap as I could cup in my hands.

Once I'd been scrubbing for about twenty minutes I decided that my cheek had probably had enough scouring for the next ten years and rinsed myself off, surveying my work in the mirror. _I need a shave_, I thought absently. I needed a lot of things.

I turned off the light and walked back into the bedroom, making for the ice bucket where Damien had retrieved a popsicle for me yesterday. He was right; it was a lot less painful to puke when you had something to puke up. My heart skipped a beat when I found the food store.

Forget about the bucket... the entire sink was now filled with ice, which looked as though it had been recently rotated, because the cubes on top had barely begun to melt. There were about ten different varieties of popsicles and ice pops crammed into the sink, and I might as well have made a pit stop at the frozen foods section of the local supermarket. I grabbed a strawberry flavored one and made myself comfortable on the floor, propping myself up on the pillow Damien had retrieved for me. I smiled like an idiot and looked up at him.

He was asleep at the moment, but it was obvious that he had been routinely getting up and leaving; he was still wearing his coat and boots, and I could smell the winter air on him. It was his fault, really... I wasn't ready to be taken off that IV. I was dehydrated and probably anemic... but even though my body hurt like hell and my throat stung from stomach bile... I was happy. I would never say it to Damien for fear of jinxing myself, but in all my life I'd never had anyone go all-out like this for me. Wendy brought light into my otherwise tedious library sessions, and Token and Clyde were always good for a round of Thirst for Blood, but they had other friends, other obligations. I had nothing, really, but a sick obsession around which my entire life revolved... and the black-haired boy whose motel room I was camping out in was it. If I hadn't been vomiting blood a few hours ago I'd have thought it was all just a dream.

I had started on an orange ice pop when Damien stirred. He twisted a bit, boots squealing over the crumpled comforter, and smiled sleepily at me. "You washed the puke off your face, then?"

I touched my raw cheek and shot him a lopsided grin. "Yeah."

"You rolled into it at about two. I would've laughed louder but I thought I might wake you up." He stretched like a cat before throwing his legs over the bed and pushing himself into a seated position. "You should drink some, too... that's better for you. How's the ice?"

"Fine," I replied, feeling useful.

"Good... I'm tired as shit. I should've just picked up a mini-fridge while I was out..."

The comment brought a question to mind, and, while relatively irrelevant, it didn't seem the type to piss him off. "Do you really buy your things?" He smirked at me with pride on his lips.

"Kind of." He flashed me a credit card from the breast pocket of his jacket. I raised my eyebrows knowingly at him.

"That thing really fucked with some heads back at the hospital."

Damien chuckled darkly and glanced at the clock to check the time. "Yeah, I figured as much... gift from my dad. Listen, it's about six and I'm starving, do you mind if I have one of those?" He gestured at the sink. "I'd go get something at the McDonald's, but I don't trust you not to die in the time it'd take me to get there and back."

I knew he wasn't really asking for my permission, but I humored him. "Be my guest." He got up then and grabbed a cherry, threw the wrapper on the floor, and sat back down on his bed. I decided to ask another question; talking distracted me from the aching in my muscles and I wasn't sure how much of a conversation we could get going over the subject of my dying.

"What does the card say now?"

He glanced over at me with an expression that clearly said he had no idea why I'd care, but he didn't seem annoyed. "Damien Sharp. I'm a twenty-five year old home-owner and I live alone. When I get bored I'll probably go back to the student persona."

I frowned down at my ice pop. "Damien..." He nodded. "I don't... get it. If you go through all the trouble of mixing up your records every few weeks, why don't you ever change your first name? That just seems... well, stupid," I summarized for lack of a better word. Damien bit off the top of his popsicle and grinned.

"Because one day they'll figure it out... give them ten years, maybe. They'll start to figure it out. And by then I'll be powerful enough to want the recognition. Call it... my card."

I shook my head warily. "You're... _insane_..."

"How stunningly perceptive," he teased, and I couldn't help but laugh.


	4. Little boys are made of

**Chapter Four — Little boys are made of...**

Pip started throwing up again at about noon. We decided to move into the bathroom after realizing that eventually the vomit in the carpet was going to start to smell. I sat on the toilet with one of the books I'd picked up for Pip; he was huddled at the far end of the bathtub, which I'd outfitted with both of the room's pillows and two of his sheets; the bucket was refilled with ice and as many popsicles as it could hold and was placed on the floor within arm's reach of Pip. I timed his eating and drinking by the chapters of the book. He was free to eat whenever he felt the desire to do so, but when I finished a chapter he _had_ to drink a full cup of water. He seemed alright with the idea of not dying, so he complied.

I had started on chapter ten when he leapt up from the wall of the bathtub and crawled into a hands-and-knees position over the drain to begin another puking session. I put the book down on the counter and watched with indifferent eyes, but I wanted it to stop. The sooner he recovered, the sooner I could stop feeling sorry for him, and the sooner we could both get out of here and go our separate ways. My Sharp identity was shaping up to be severely less fun than I'd intended, and by the time all this was over I'd have to trash it. Apparently Damien Sharp no longer lived alone; he took in charity cases off the streets and watched them spew their guts in his leisure time.

"You don't have to _watch_," Pip choked, coughing up the remnants of his latest retch. I smiled nastily in response.

"But I get such a kick out of it." I stood up and filled the wax cup he'd been using with water. That was another part of our deal: he had to drink every time he puked. When I handed him the cup, he looked like he'd rather die. "Good boy."

"Ugh." He stared hesitantly at the cup as though it might bite. "This is fucking miserable..." He took a sip and shuddered. "You should have rescued me a day later."

I grinned at his ability to be a smart ass even while he was potentially dying. "I'm not really enjoying this either, you know. Despite all our fabulous conversation, sitting around in a bathroom for hours on end is not exactly my idea of fun." He chuckled and slid back against his pillows after draining the last bit of water from his cup. He pulled the top sheet over himself and curled into a ball so that his back was to me.

"At least you've got a book."

"Ha!" I glared at the book on the counter contemptuously. "You've practically got a _bed_ going in that bathtub; I've been sitting on the fucking can for seven hours. I can't even feel my ass anymore."

He didn't make any noise, but I could see his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. "You suffer so." I glared invisibly at him, but maybe he could sense the stare, because he reversed his position then to face me. His expression was unexpectedly serious. "You don't have to stay, you know," he offered after a brief pause, bringing his hands up under his chin beneath the sheet. "I'm doing alright. I'm sure I'll be fine if you want to go out for awhile."

"No," I protested wearily. "If I go out it'll be just my luck that I come back to find you dead... thrown up your large intestine or something." He snickered appreciatively.

"And what is it exactly that you plan to do if such a thing were to happen in your presence?" I pondered the question for a moment.

"Laugh, I suppose," I answered finally, face betraying nothing. I wondered whether or not Pip thought I was kidding. "I'd shove it back down your throat afterwards, of course."

"I don't think it works quite that way."

"Probably not, but it would save me the trouble of making two trips to the trash receptacle." He grinned and twisted the sheet around his hands.

"I don't know... you might be able to make a nice necklace out of it." I pulled a face.

"Eurgh. Your large intestine? Who _knows_ how many guys have been up there?" Pip raised his eyebrows at me and I couldn't help but laugh.

"Do you really care whether or not I die?"

"Of course I do!" I replied before I could catch myself. He shrugged and rolled onto his back, eyes on the ceiling.

"Oh."

My eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?" He smiled placidly.

"It means '_oh_,' asswipe," he answered, as though it was the most obvious question in the world. "I guess I still don't really understand why you're going through all of this for me. It seems so highly out of character." I frowned.

"You think you've got me totally pinned, don't you?" I asked incredulously. "You haven't got the first clue what I'm like."

"I know that the idea of mercy makes you sick," he offered with another breezy shrug. I rolled my eyes.

"Oh, you're a fucking genius, Pip."

He shot a grin at me, and I wanted to smack him in retaliation. "Well forgive me, O Lord of Darkness, but I believe it's your pillow I'm lying on." My hands clenched in frustration at his cocky arrogance.

"This isn't _mercy_... you didn't do anything _wrong_... I haven't _forgiven_ you for _anything_. Look, Pip, I don't know what I was like when you met me, but I'm no longer the kid you think you know so much about, alright? Death isn't a game to me."

"No?"

"_No_," I growled impatiently. "Death is something that humans warrant for themselves, and I merely provide it to those who ask, or to those who stand in my way." He looked slightly puzzled, as though he was trying to piece something together.

"But I did stand in your way."

"No," I corrected him, voice still edgy. "You didn't. You were in that office for an answer, not an assassination."

"Not then." He looked back up at the ceiling to avoid looking at me. "When we were young. I stood in your way when we were boys." The room was silent but for the sound of my breathing. "You're still... very much the kid you were when I met you." Then a sad smile flickered across his face as well as an expression I couldn't read. "Will you throw me away again the moment I become an obstacle?"

It was an unfair question. "I don't... what were you standing in the way of then?"

He contemplated his response, and for a moment even looked expectantly at me, as if my face was a teleprompter from which he could draw answers. "Well... love, I guess." I frowned, disbelief in every line on my face. Love? Me? "You so desperately wanted the acceptance of the boys who hated you... but it wasn't something you'd ever have with me by your side. So you fucked me up to win their hearts, and we never spoke again until four days ago." I blinked dumbly, utterly nonplused.

It was an answer I wasn't expecting, an answer I didn't know what to make of. "I... I can't remember any of that, but... love's not really my style, Pip. I don't think that's something you have to worry about."

"No," he sighed, closing his eyes. "I suppose I don't."

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

"By the way," he began in a completely new tone of voice, the worst attempt I'd ever seen at a subject change, "when part of your body falls asleep, just rock your head from side to side to get rid of the pins-and-needles feeling. It really works." I could only stare at the little blonde boy in the bathtub.

"Uh... right. I'm uh, gonna go refill the ice bucket... you can take a piss if you need to... just lock the door, alright?" I didn't wait for his approval before I stood up and grabbed the bucket, striding quickly out of the door and shutting it firmly behind me. I was going stir crazy in there.

I had taken two steps forward when I heard the rustle of his sheets, and I stopped to listen in case he was about to throw up again. Frankly, there was no reason why I had to be in the room when he was vomiting. Pip was right; there was nothing I could do to help. I just couldn't help being paranoid, either. But I didn't hear him move across the bathtub to puke, or to get up and relieve himself. Deducing that he had just rolled over to make himself more comfortable, I began walking again... but then I heard him start to cry.

I almost dropped the bucket. It wasn't as though I'd never heard him cry before... hell, he'd been crying last night. It was just... different, somehow, hearing it unattached to speech or vomit. It was a horrible, dry sobbing, and coming from a boy it was even worse. I gave him silent thanks for waiting until I'd left to do it, though. It hurt me to listen to it outside, but it would've been a thousand times worse for him to see the pain on my face. There was even a small part of me that wanted to rush back in there and comfort him, but that would only have humiliated us both. I decided to give him his privacy and left the room for more ice.

My reflections taunted me the entire way to the ice dispenser at the opposite end of the motel. _Love?_ they teased, baring overlong canines in a smile I recognized as my own. _You fucked that little queen up for __**love**_

"I know," I whispered, glaring mindlessly at nothing in particular as I poured the water in the bucket off the side of the balcony. "It doesn't make sense..."

_Perhaps he's mistaken_, the reflections hissed. _Perhaps it was his own love that stood in the way of __**power**_.That sounded significantly more likely. I slid the bucket onto the grid and filled it noisily, pondering the possibility.

"But... we were _boys_," I argued to myself. "How could some scrawny little kid ever be more than a nuisance to me?"

_Find out_, the dark reflection in the dispenser replied. I nodded slowly and withdrew the bucket.

"Pip?" I called when I stepped back into the motel room, giving him time to compose himself and pretend that he hadn't just been crying. I walked slowly to the bathroom and waited until the rustling of his sheets had come to a complete stop before opening the door. His eyes were still red, but I was perfectly willing to ignore the fact. After all, I had more important things to worry about.

"I want to know exactly what happened between us when we were kids."

o o o

I immediately regretted not faking unconsciousness.

"Er..." It wasn't that I never thought the story would come up... I'd just assumed that I'd be the one to initiate the conversation, and then only as some means of guilt or blackmail. "Well... we were eight..." Damien had set the bucket down on the floor and sat back down on the toilet with his legs crossed, waiting with an indifferent air I knew was only a front. I struggled to find words, but I didn't know how to embellish the story to his liking... after all, I had no idea whether he'd be embarrassed or proud of his performance.

"We were eight...?" His eyebrows were raised and I felt my cheeks burn.

"Uh... yeah..." I tried to clear my throat, because at the moment it didn't seem quite capable of producing sound. "You transferred to our third grade class nine years ago... it was a complete fiasco, really... You had no notion of 'subtlety.'" I could see it as I said it: the shattering glass, the groaning metal, the burning wood. "You were quite proud of the fact that you were the son of Satan, but no one really believed you or cared otherwise... so you thought you'd prove it to us by fucking up the classroom and about half the student body." Damien smiled, amused. "It scared the hell out of everyone, needless to say. No one really wanted to be around you."

"Except you?" he interjected, leering.

"Actually, _you_ approached _me_," I corrected, my blush deepening. I wasn't sure how he'd take that, so I lowered my eyes from his face. "I wasn't about to turn you away... I was about as well liked as you were. I'm British, you know, and the other boys thought it was a great game to assert their American superiority over me by beating the living shit out of me on a daily basis and hearing me scream for mercy in my limey little accent."

"You don't have an accent," Damien pointed out stupidly. I laughed despite my efforts not to.

"Well, I've been in America most of my life. Time has a way of changing those sorts of things. _You_ used to squeak like a little girl, but you don't anymore." He narrowed his eyes, and I decided to end the tangent. "So uh... right. I don't know... I don't know if anyone would've considered us _friends_, exactly, but you were the closest thing I'd ever had to one. We spent a lot of time together, and... well, you weren't exactly friendly, but it was nice to have someone around." I smiled to myself, feeling stupid for doing so. "But aside from being the two most spit-on kids at the school, we didn't have much in common. You were more interested in the vulgar, power-hungry boys, the ones who made a game out of how loud I cried. It wasn't hard to win their favor; you just had to win their game."

"How?" he asked avidly, leaning forward. The ravenous glint in his eyes made me shudder.

"You... I don't know exactly what it was you did. You... tagged me, or something... opened up a hole in the ground... to Hell, I guess. It's hard to remember," I confessed softly. "I was so scared. But something grabbed me... I... demons, maybe... and carried me into the air. And then..." I paused, because I didn't know exactly how to describe what my memory knew came next. "Then... it was like... I was _exploding_... like my body was ripped into a thousand pieces and scattering... but then I hit the ground, virtually unscathed. I was barely even singed... some of the burns left scars, but most just left blisters. I don't know how I survived so perfectly intact... I thought I'd felt myself _dying_..."

I couldn't look up at Damien's face, but I could almost _feel_ his smile. "Impressive..."

"Yes," I commented darkly, burrowing myself beneath the sheet and turning my back to him. "That's what the boys thought. It was all they talked about for nearly a week. They forgot eventually, of course. Boys forget everything eventually."

I could hear Damien shift uncomfortably behind me. "Pip..."

"Do you think it's stupid of me to hold onto memories like that?"

"... no..."

"Why did you want to know the story?" I tried not to sound bitter. Damien had shown me a level of kindness I'd never known. I was grateful to him. I didn't want my voice to imply otherwise.

"Because..." His words had a softness to them that sounded unnatural in his voice. "Because you said I chose love over you. I... I've only got a vague guess as to what love's like, okay? But from what I gather, it's just not my kind of thing. It was never my kind of thing. But you... you _cared_ about me... and I could never _begin_ to understand _that_. You're right; men... boys... do forget everything. We're obsessed with ourselves, alright? But your stupid... heh... your stupid, faggy obsession with me... it completely defies that law of nature. Why the fuck would I ever choose love over you when you're the only one in the universe that seems to know what the hell love _is_?"

I gripped my pillow to keep my hands from shaking. "I have... no idea what love is." I was grateful that I didn't have enough liquid in my body to produce tears. "How could someone... hated by God himself... ever experience love?" Damien laughed, but it wasn't insensitive.

"Hey, if we're gonna talk about being hated by God, you're going to have to get ready to come in second place." And then... he walked over to the edge of the bathtub and placed a hand on my shoulder.

I was so surprised that I nearly jumped out of my skin. Damien snickered. "Woah, calm down... I'm not _that_ frigid, am I?"

On the contrary, my entire body had flooded with warmth. "S-sorry..."

He got up after about a minute and flipped off the light, but he didn't leave. I guessed that was my cue to go to sleep.

o o o

I waited until he started snoring to leave the room; I rotated the ice in the bucket and the sink, then flopped down on my bed for the first rest I'd had since six that morning. I fell asleep the minute I hit the mattress, but my dreams were troubled.

He was there as my subconscious imagined him at eight years old, swinging back and forth on a rusty playground swing set and smiling, his hair fluttering about his face in waves of magnificent gold. Three other boys sat on the swings beside him, laughing amongst themselves, grins like his on their cherubic faces. I sat on the edge of the playground between the grass and mulch, my body fully seventeen. I dared not approach them for fear of interrupting the perfect, childish purity that settled over them like a mist... I was content to watch.

There was a subtle change in the atmosphere that I wouldn't have noticed but for the shiver it sent down my spine. I noticed then that a lock of his hair had tangled around the left chain of his swing, but he didn't seem to notice or care, so I said nothing. But then... then suddenly he was about to jump, and I rose to warn him. _No_, I meant to say, but it didn't come in time. _Wait_.

There was a horrible rip, a high scream, and then he was face down on the mulch. I started towards him, but the three boys got there faster.

"Are you all right?" the black-haired boy asked him.

"Can you stand?" inquired the redheaded one. I thought they were going to help him, but I glanced at the third boy and immediately knew that I was mistaken. He was standing behind Pip's swing, an evil leer on his face and that lock of golden hair between his fingers. He was more than eight, I realized, and the fact terrified me for a reason I knew only when his eyes caught mine. His dark eyes smiled at me, and without ever looking away he ripped the hair out of the chain and brought it to his lips. Then he ran his tongue through the tangle, thick saliva dripping from the perfect gold, and I broke into a run.

_Stop!_ I tried to scream, but my lips opened without noise. _Stop it!_ He shook his head in a slow, deliberate "no" and broke eye contact at last to shoot a look lost on me at his two friends. They smiled knowingly and bent down to Pip, the black-haired boy scooping him up and the redhead giving him a kiss on the cheek. _No!_ I wanted to yell. _Cut it out!_

Scared blue eyes met mine, then, and suddenly it was like I was running through water. I was only three yards away and now I could barely move. I offered an outstretched hand to him, but he was too far away. He just shook his head and opened his mouth, and I thought he might say something but only vomit came out, thick vomit the color of blood, and it was everywhere but on the boys. They just giggled as if someone had told an amusing joke and squeezed him tighter, kissed him harder. When the redhead moved from his pale cheek to his vomit-drenched lips, I managed a whisper that was supposed to be a scream and broke through the shield that impaired my movement. I was two feet away, one foot away, three inches away, and then they were gone, they were all gone, and the mulch was smooth tile the color of sour milk.

"Over here," purred a voice that had to belong to that third boy, and when I whipped around it was his dark hair and dark eyes gleaming at me over a porcelain tub dripping with and surrounded by blood. I stood up and slipped on the freezing water I suddenly realized the floor was flooded with, but there was blonde hair over the rim of the tub and I ran as fast as my legs would carry me. The brown haired boy was gone when I reached the bathtub, but it wasn't him I was worried about; I plunged my arms into the blood that filled the tub to the rim and dragged up the body at the bottom... but it wasn't Pip's. It wasn't even human. It stared up at me with empty eye sockets and a face whose skin had long been eaten away and smiled though an orange funeral shroud. I thrust the corpse away from me with a growl of disgust and stood up, dripping cold water and sticky blood.

"Where is he?!" I howled, balling my hands into fists. "Where the fuck is he?!"

"Shh, baby," a silky voice prompted me. "We're right here."

It was the black-haired boy... but he wasn't a boy anymore. He smiled up at me through full crimson lips and batted too-long eyelashes. I was uncomfortably aware of breasts pressing into my arm. He reached up as if to kiss me, but I spun away quickly, only to come face-to-face with the second half of the "we" the black-haired boy had been referring to. His breasts were smaller but his face was prettier, and his slender arms found their way expertly around my neck.

"Don't you love us?" he whispered into my ear, and all I could see was red hair, red hair in my eyes and nose and mouth and I tried to scream _NO_ but it was all lost in that tangled mess, and the only thing I could think to do was destroy them, destroy them both. It all left me in a flaming hiss and bits of their bloody bodies hit my legs as they fell to the ground in pieces, still laughing. _Stop it_, I begged the grass that was suddenly beneath my feet. _Let us go_.

"You can't ever go."

He was standing beneath a Ferris wheel this time and – a dry sob escaped my throat – fucking Pip into the dirt. His laughter beat against my skull like a hammer and his eyes were worse. _Isn't he beautiful_, they hissed. _Isn't he the most beautiful fucking faggot on earth_.

"LEAVE HIM THE FUCK ALONE!" I screamed, spit flying from my mouth as I rushed clumsily over towards them; I slipped on a patch of grass that was slick with blood and muscle tissue and fell hard to the ground. I could taste blood and dirt and earth and it all made me sick to my stomach, but I pushed myself up, then froze. The brown-haired boy was gone. Pip was alone on the ground, his body seventeen and his shoulder-length hair unshaven and perfect. I wanted to run to him but I couldn't move. I watched and waited with tears streaming down my face as he groaned and picked himself up; when he caught my eyes, his face lit up and he ran for me, laughing like a child. He fell to his knees in front of me and threw his arms around my neck like the redhead had, but it felt almost welcome this time.

"Pip," I breathed, and I wanted to touch his hair but my arms were so stiff. "Your hair," I begged him. "I want to touch your hair."

"You want to touch... my hair?" No... no, the voice was wrong... He pulled away, teeth bared in a cruel smile, and it was _him_, brown hair falling over his eyes and blonde hair snared in his teeth. No... the tears against my cheeks burned against the flesh there like acid.

"Wh-where's... where's Pip?"

But I didn't have to ask, because he was at the top of the Ferris wheel and suddenly all I could see. He clutched his shoulders and whispered with a small smile, "Little higher." And that was it. There was a sudden burst of light and he was everywhere, a thousand little pieces glittering like gems in the mid-afternoon sky. It was almost pretty; in my blurry vision the blood looked like ruby.

"Wow, that was cool, baby." The breasts against my arm were back. "You're not such a bad guy after all." The red hair in my eyes and mouth was back. "Yeah, sweetie... come on in and join the party."

Then the corpse from the bathtub was kissing me and all I could taste was death.

"Damien?"

My eyes flew open and it was over.

"I um... I'm sorry to wake you..." The dark motel room slowly came into focus... the door on the left... the counter on the far wall... "It's just... the bathroom's colder than shit... I've taken all the sheets off my bed..." The spare bed on the right, stripped of sheeting... what the fuck was Pip saying? "Normally I wouldn't ask, but you're on top of all your sheets, and..." Pip... holy shit, _Pip_...

"Mother _fucker_," I breathed, then reached up and grabbed him. He let out a startled scream and fell forward onto the bed, but I saw him fall forward into a pool of bloody mulch.

"What are you—"

I pulled him up and clutched him to me so tightly he actually choked, but I couldn't let him go, because if I did he'd be everywhere again, a bloody little fanfare in the sky. "I remember... I remember it," I whispered breathlessly into his hair. "I'm sorry... fuck... I'm so sorry..."

"Oh, I... I... um... it's... it's okay... Damien..." He was shocked out of his mind, I could tell, and I couldn't blame him. Properly awake, I would've died before embracing him like that... but I wasn't properly awake. I was still half-asleep, and it still seemed so real, and I could still hear the screaming, and I was really, truly frightened for the first time in my life.

"It wasn't... that wasn't me," I tried to convince him, my fingernails digging into his back. "That's not... I didn't want that... or I... I don't anymore... if that was love, I don't want anything to do with it... I'm so fucking sorry... I didn't mean to... fuck..."

Hesitantly, Pip's hands made their way to my shoulders. "It's okay... really, it is... I believe you, Damien."

"I'm the son of the fucking devil," I laughed bitterly, loosening my grip at the mention. "If you trust me, you're every bit as stupid as I am."

"Well, then... at least we'll have something in common."

Against the base of my throat I felt his lips part into a smile, and I couldn't help but smile, too.


	5. Unconventionally Beautiful

**Chapter Five — Unconventionally Beautiful**

When I woke up in his bed, the first thing I thought was _GET OUT NOW BEFORE HE SEES YOU_. That seemed like a very, very good plan.

I vaguely remembered what had happened that night: I'd approached Damien for some sheets, he'd woken up in a thin film of sweat, grabbed me and pulled me down – that was where the memory got blurry. It was... bizarre. There wasn't really a better word I could attach to the experience. It had felt strange enough to be touched by him through the sheet in the bathroom, but to be _held_ by him like that... he had to have been out of his mind. He hadn't been alone; the shock of the embrace had almost entirely shut down the conscious portion of my brain. I could remember him apologizing for something, giving me some sort of warning, calling me an idiot... but I couldn't remember what had been said after that, when we had finally fallen asleep, or why we'd fallen asleep together. It was frightening, not knowing what had gone on, but it was nothing a little denial couldn't cure. I tip-toed into the bathroom to crawl into the tub and pretend the night had never happened, but I stopped dead when I passed the mirror.

What on earth... I practically leapt up onto the sink to get a closer look at the eyes that were no longer sunken, the cheeks that were no longer sallow, the skin that was no longer pale, the face that couldn't possibly be mine but was. It was impossible... it was fucking impossible... I tested out my limbs to check for soreness, but it was nothing more than a little early-morning stiffness... and the pain in my stomach... I hadn't noticed until now, but it was _nothing_ like it was yesterday. In fact, it wasn't bad enough that it couldn't just be nerves or hunger. Holy shit... holy shit...

"Damien!" I cried, forgetting that I was supposed to be asleep in the bathtub and wary of his violent temper. "Damien, come here!" I was ecstatic. I glanced over to the bathtub's drain, crusted over with my own vomit, and laughed.

"What is it?" he asked groggily when he stumbled into the bathroom two minutes later, half-dressed. I turned to him and grinned so widely my cheeks hurt. "What the fuck are you so happy about?"

"_Look_ at me!" I exclaimed, practically flying over to him. "Just _look_ at this perfect face!" He started to roll his eyes at my idiocy, but then he seemed to realize what I was talking about, and his eyes went wide in shock.

"Holy _shit_..."

"I know!" I cried, pushing past him and into the bedroom to do some sort of victory dance that involved me knocking over a lamp. Damien was too stunned to even complain. He just watched me from the doorway and shook his head in disbelief. "I _know_!"

"But it..." He squinted as though maybe his eyes were the problem. "You don't just... it doesn't make any _sense_..."

I just laughed, too happy to care about things like logic. "Maybe you... I dunno, cured me or something. You fixed your hands without any problem, maybe you—"

"But it doesn't _work_ that way," he argued, raking a hand through his hair and frowning. "I... I have the power to _destroy_... _you_ know that..."

"Well..." I stopped to consider his statement, tilting my head and looking at him thoughtfully. "Maybe it was an accident. You were pretty messed up last night, and maybe you... oh..." He looked away awkwardly and I shut up. He remembered... but I had no idea how much.

"Yeah, I... had some pretty intense REM." He grinned nervously at the floor; seeing him nervous was almost scarier than waking up in his bed. "It came back to me... what I did to you... when we were younger. The boys... what was the brown-haired one's name?"

"Eric Cartman," I responded, realizing what he must have been apologizing for the night before. "He's still in South Park." He nodded, frowning slightly.

"He never... _did_ anything to you, did he?" My brows knit together.

"What do you mean?" Damien looked up at me and I went bright red. "_Oh!_ Oh, no, no, nothing like that. No, um, he's not like that." God, what an awkward question.

"And..." His eyes had drifted down to the floor again. "It's not that... well, I was just so out of it last night, I... _I_ didn't do anything to you, did I?"

Even my ears went red at that. I could actually feel the heat in my eyes. "_No!_" I assured him quickly, shaking my head frantically. "No, you didn't do a thing." I meant to add "to me" at the end of that sentence, but my embarrassment cut me off early. "Except, you know, fixing me, apparently." Damien looked up at me and laughed. Oh, please let that have been the end of the conversation.

"_Fixing_ you? Doubtful. Pumping you full of satanic vitality, maybe..." He did a little reflection on his choice of words and added abruptly, "Oh, wow, that didn't come out right." But then we were both laughing and it was all okay; I let out a sigh of relief when I finally caught my breath.

"Hey, um... I may be better on the not-puking-my-guts-up front, but actually I'm pretty hungry... not that I'm complaining or anything," I added with a smile. "But maybe we could take daddy's credit card out for a spin and get some real food... and by real food, I mean anything that isn't the shit downstairs."

"Meh, probably just as well," he mused, leaning against the doorframe and shooting a glance over at the bedroom sink. "I'm pretty sure that twelve hours without a change of ice will have ruined our popsicle stock." I followed his gaze and realized with a startled laugh that he was right. The basin was a pool of discolored water and sticky pieces of paper against the sides that had been popsicle wrappers yesterday. That would be a pain in the ass to clean up later. "If you do want to go out, I picked up some clothes for you the other day... you know, before you decided to start dying on me. In the bags over there." He gestured towards the corner beside his bed. "Go shower and we'll get going. You reek." I blew a raspberry at him.

"You don't _exactly_ smell like Acqua di Gio yourself."

"Hey," he retorted, raising his eyebrows. "As long as I don't smell like brimstone you should be fucking grateful." I rolled my eyes and pushed past him into the bathroom, shaking my head.

"Take a good whiff of yourself and say that again."

o o o

It was true: my stubborn refusal to leave the kid's side for the past two days – except to run back and forth across the motel balcony to maintain a constant supply of ice – hadn't exactly had a beneficial impact on my personal hygiene. I didn't reek of vomit and stomach acid like he did, but my hair and skin were coated in sweat and my arms were sticky with sugar and dried blood. I could literally scrape the dirt off my body, but I let the near-scalding water get rid of it instead... my muscles were sore and stiff from days of irregular activity, and the heat that beat against them was the most exquisite thing I'd felt in what seemed like ages.

"Christ, Damien! You've had time to shower, beat off, and shower again! Get out – I'm starving!"

I growled at the sound of Pip's impatient voice and turned the faucet so hard to the right it cracked a little in my grip. "I decided to beat off a second time."

"Jesus, wasn't fucking me last night good enough for you?"

Brat.

I stepped out of the shower and toweled myself off, pulling on the same clothes I'd been wearing for days. Wardrobe was only important when you were expected to have one. "You know," I announced as I stepped out of the steamy bathroom, "at least when you were sick you were _polite_. And you look _ridiculous_." He was tugging at the ill-fitting clothes he was wearing and glared at my comment.

"_You're_ the one who picked them out!" he argued, pouting like a little kid. "I look like a war refugee...!" He did, a little, except for the long blonde hair and lack of dirt stains. The sweatshirt I'd bought for him hung down almost to his knees, and his pants folded so many times over his feet that he resembled a little girl playing dress-up in her mother's clothes. I smiled at his aggravated expression.

"You'll look even better with that ski cap on." He let out a sarcastic snort, but actually went to retrieve it once I'd brought it to his attention.

"You owe me a really good breakfast," he muttered as he tugged the hat over his head. "I'll be pissed off if I end up in a police station on an empty stomach." I laughed and slid on my shoes.

"Oh, Pip... you're so pretty when you're bitter."

"Shut up and show me to your car."

Well, it wasn't exactly _my_ car, and I think he figured that out when I used the room key to unlock it. He raised his eyebrows and made it quite clear with his expression that he wasn't getting in until I explained. "It's... like a skeleton key," I offered, climbing into the driver's seat. "Except it actually _does_ work on everything." He grinned and stepped into the car, pulling out a chain from beneath his shirt on which hung an _actual_ skeleton key. I frowned at him, puzzled. "Do you burgle as a side job or something?"

"Nah... I hide in closets to avoid getting my ass kicked as a full-time job." I laughed until I realized he was serious, after which I paused for a moment before laughing harder. He rolled his eyes, but didn't seem as offended as I would've expected. "So, answer me this: if you have your choice of any car in the parking lot, why are we sitting in a yellow minivan?"

I grinned and gave a loving pat to the dashboard as the car roared to a start. "It'll be easy to identify when its owner files a stolen car report. I figured that sort of thing would matter to you." He went a little pink and smiled.

"Yes... actually. That's... surprisingly considerate of you." I snorted.

"You're trouble."

"What do you mean?"

I beamed at him as we pulled out of the parking lot. "You're so easy to manipulate. All it takes is a little kindness to turn you into putty. You know how easily I could be lying to you? Maybe we're driving in this particular car because I assumed that, being a minivan, it belonged to some color-blind broad with three or four little brats to look after, and I take pleasure in the thought of all them screaming and whining back in their room." Pip looked thoughtfully up at the roof.

"Maybe I just like to believe the best in people."

"Don't." I made a sharp left turn that slammed him into the door. "You're just setting yourself up to get hurt. Humans are so sinful that even Satan despises them." He shrugged.

"People make mistakes..."

"Yeah!" I agreed, slowing to a stop at a yellow light. "That's why there's a _hell_." Pip glanced over at me curiously, his head tilted slightly.

"You know, Damien... not everyone in this world is as evil as you seem to think." I couldn't take any advice from him seriously, not in that outfit. "People just screw up sometimes. That's human nature. Maybe if you gave people a chance... maybe then you wouldn't—"

"I _did_ give people a chance!" I snapped, hitting the car horn accidentally and setting it off. The car in front of us honked angrily in response. Asshole. "And that's why I did – well, what I did to you!" His eyes were so tranquil it was almost off-putting.

"Yeah... well, you're human... in a way... aren't you? I've forgiven people for worse things." I wondered if that was true; I didn't think it was really possible. "And maybe I'm crazy, or stupid, but... I'm glad I gave you another shot, you know? I enjoy being with you. You're rude and you're vulgar, but you're smart, too, and you... well, deep down... I think that you care about me."

I didn't like to think of it that way. I cared what _happened_ to him in that I didn't want him to _die_... but that was a far stretch from caring about _him_... wasn't it? I let out a long breath and waited for the light to turn green. "There's an IHOP a little further ahead," I announced in a pathetic attempt to change the subject. "That alright with you?"

"Yeah," he said, eyes bright. "That would be great!"

o o o

Solid food had never tasted so goddamn wonderful. I ordered a Colorado omelet with three pancakes I drenched in blueberry syrup and insisted that Damien get a French toast platter with hash browns and sausage links so that I could have some of everything. I'd wanted to order a plate of crepes, too, but Damien put his foot down at the idea of me ordering two meals, so instead I simply took to eating half of his. He stuck to his coffee and glared at me every so often.

"People will think we're _dating_," he hissed over his mug as I speared one of his sausage links on my fork. "Can't you just tip half the toast on your plate or something?" I looked affronted.

"Then where would _my_ food go?"

"In your mouth!" he growled. "At least eat _your_ breakfast_ first_." I laughed at the idea, chewing off an end of the sausage which was currently the best thing in my life.

"I want it all. I couldn't possibly eat while watching all that poor neglected food on your plate, crying for my attention." Damien let out an annoyed exhale that splashed some of his coffee over the side of the mug.

"Maybe," he suggested sharply, "it wouldn't be _neglected_ if you'd let me _eat_ it." I could hardly hear him over my own satisfaction, but I decided that it _was_ only fair – after buying me such a nice meal – to let him have a turn at his plate. I retreated back to my side of the table and waved a "go ahead" gesture as I tore a piece off my omelet. God, it was good. It was better than good. That sausage was a thing of the past.

After five minutes of watching me eat off his plate, however, Damien seemed hesitant to eat off it himself. I assume he was afraid that if he ate off it everyone in the restaurant would suddenly realize that we were in fact sharing a plate and jump to the horrible conclusion that we were fucking each other behind closed doors. He nudged a piece of toast with his fork, and I moaned to see such a beautiful creature so mistreated. I resisted the urge to grab it out of his hands and eat it myself. "It won't _bite_ you," I assured him, slicing through my stack of pancakes, nirvana interrupted. "Though I don't really think you _deserve_ that French toast." It hurt me inside to watch it lying there so helplessly while Damien probed it like a dead animal.

He shook his head with a look of incredulity. "You're such a _glutton_," he muttered, laughing to himself. I shook my head in protest.

"All I've had for the past two days are popsicles and the taste of my own vomit. This—" and here I gestured at the multitude of plates littering our table "—is the best thing to ever happen to me." Damien clucked his tongue.

"Why don't you just go out back and fuck it, then?"

I looked up at him like this was the most obvious answer in the world. "Because that would ruin the flavor." He laughed in spite of himself and smiled at me, finally popping a piece of the toast into his mouth.

"You're crazy." Entirely possible. "Look, I'm gonna run to the bathroom. Don't – well, leave _some_ food for me, alright?" I smirked.

"I can't make you any promises." He rolled his eyes and walked off.

It was strange; as soon as Damien was gone I felt suddenly self-conscious over the fact that there were four plates of food on our table and that I was dressed up like a hoodlum. It hadn't bothered me at all before... it occurred to me then that I felt safe with Damien, and the revelation was a strange one.

"'scuse me," came the voice of our waitress, interrupting my train of thought. "Sorry," she apologized with a smile when I jumped. "You doin' alright?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine." I realized then that she was talking about the food and kicked myself mentally. "The food's great," I covered quickly. The look on her face told me she didn't care.

"Hey, uh... that guy you're with..." She was blushing. Oh my god... I put my fork down on the table because I figured it would be incredibly awkward to drop it on the floor while she was asking this. "Don't... don't mind me for asking, but... um... he's not _seeing_ anyone, is he?" I hoped I wasn't gaping at her.

She was rather pretty, really. She was young, maybe a few years older than I was, and probably working here part-time to help pay for college. She had the typical trademarks of her age group: a pierced eyebrow, heavy eyeliner, a completely unnatural hair color – flaming red, in her case. But I immediately disliked her. It was silly and irrational, but I suddenly wanted her gone.

"Oh, yes, sorry," I lied, praying my voice didn't sound as unnatural to her as it did to me. "The two of us are seeing each other, actually."

Her face flushed bright pink. _She bought it_, I thought to myself with grim satisfaction.

"O-oh," she finally managed, looking stunned. "W-well uh... thanks..." She walked off awkwardly and I felt a smile creeping its way onto my face. I saw her mutter something to a coworker up at the front of the restaurant and felt something like amusement when they shared a dark look. Wankers.

I didn't even realize that Damien had come back until I heard him ask rudely, "What the hell are you staring at?" I whipped around, not bothering to mask my surprise.

"That was fast," I commented indifferently, wondering if Damien would notice that I hadn't touched either of our plates in his absence. The look on his face told me that he did, but he didn't mention it.

"I was taking a piss, not giving birth." Wow, what an eloquent guy. I snorted into the table and picked up my silverware, though my appetite had diminished severely.

When he reached over to pour himself some more coffee I tried looking at him the way our waitress had. To me, he had always just been Damien, the kid with the bad attitude and the ability to create corpses with a flick of the wrist. I knew his features by heart – I'd spent years searching for them – but I'd never tried to pick out any sort of beauty in them. If the waitress knew him the way I did she probably wouldn't have, either... but I tried, then, because it bothered me that she had seen a side of him I hadn't.

Well, he wasn't pretty, and he wasn't conventionally good-looking, either. His nose was too sharp and his cheeks were too thin; his lips were tight and emotionless and his eyes were cold and underlined with dark circles. He had pale skin and messy hair, a permanent expression of being mildly irritated, and yet... there was a certain elegance with which it all fell together. It seemed strange that I'd never noticed when I'd spent years haunted by that face. I guess he was just better at being terrifying than being beautiful.

The food was still delicious, but it didn't seem as exciting as it had when it had first arrived, piping hot and still sizzling. I worked away at my omelet unenthusiastically for about five minutes before Damien's face finally contorted into something that looked like worry.

"You're not complaining about how I'm abusing my hash browns," he commented, gesturing at the nearly untouched potatoes. I smiled at him, so politely that he instinctively grimaced.

"I overheard one of the waitresses calling us gay. I figured I'd better lay off your plate for awhile."

Damien groaned and clapped a hand angrily to the table, grabbing the attention of a few other restaurant-goers. "God _dammit_, Pip..."

A different waiter came to drop off our check when we were finished, and as he was turning to leave he shot a suggestive wink at Damien.

I thought he might kill me when we got back to the motel.


	6. Running Faster

**Chapter Six — Running Faster**

_Beautiful_... _the most beautiful fucking faggot on earth_...

_The most beautiful_...

I kicked at a loose piece of cement on the balcony and growled, furious at myself for being so careless. From the moment I was old enough and strong enough to take care of myself I had lived by only one rule: _don't get caught_. It went without saying that I wasn't supposed to stand out in a crowd, which was hard enough with my jet-black eyes and corpse-white skin... but how could I possibly avoid standing out with that long blonde hair glittering like a fucking searchlight beside me? A boy like Pip was bound to attract attention, and I'd been so wrapped up in my warped little babysitting game that I hadn't realized it. Feeling any differently than I did, the solution might have been easy: all I had to do was leave. My life was a nomadic, solitary one, and usually all I had to do to shake myself free of complication was run... but that wouldn't work now. I didn't want to admit that Pip had been right, but... maybe... maybe I _did_ care about him. I couldn't leave him like this. No, more than that... I didn't _want_ to leave him.

I spent the entire day on the balcony brooding. Pip came and went as he pleased; I offered him my key, but he seemed wary about engaging in what I called "borrowing," because – as he pointed out – anyone else would call it "grand theft auto." We were within walking distance of several fast-food joints, he argued, and that would suit him just fine. (After my comment that most restaurants had evolved past the bartering system and really liked some sort of money in exchange for their food, however, he did accept my credit card, which he uneasily justified by observing that the profits fast-food chains made selling soft drinks more than made up for the expenses of his meals.) He came back from a late dinner at about eight, pausing over my prone figure on the cement and frowning. "Damien," he started, tugging nervously at sweatshirt sleeves that peeked out from beneath his jacket. "It's freezing, and you've been out here _all day_... I can understand if you don't want to spend time with me, really, I do, but... can't you at least come inside and watch television? You'll catch a cold..."

"It doesn't work like that," I reminded him, crossing my arms behind my head. He sighed and turned to walk inside, but I stopped him. "No, wait. Sit down. Talk with me." He glanced down at me and made a face, but he did eventually sit down at my feet and wrapped his arms around his knees, apparently preparing himself for a long stay.

"About what, exactly?"

"I've been thinking," I replied vaguely. "Have you contacted your family since you've been here?" He looked surprised at the question.

"Oh, um... yes. Twice. I called them the morning after you brought me here and I called them again this afternoon... I didn't want them to worry..." I snorted. Somehow I doubted that any phone call he'd made could comfort a family whose son had been missing for the past five days.

"How would you feel about going back home?"

The hurt on his face made it clear that he'd taken the question the wrong way. "I... well, I..." He hugged his knees tighter to his chest. "There... there were things I'd wanted to... to get done... Damien, I'm really sorry about this morning, if that's the reason—"

"Don't be an idiot," I snapped, shaking my head. Christ, the guy must've had every ounce of self-esteem beaten out of him as a kid. "I have to get out of here, Pip. Hell, I was getting ready to leave the night I ran into you. I've been here for so long now that I should probably leave the state. Look... if all I wanted was to get rid of you, I'd have left already." If I'd thought that would've comforted him, I was severely mistaken.

"Leave... the _state_?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "But... but we finally..." _Finally what?_ He left off there.

"You can..." I looked away from him to say the next part because it humiliated me to do so. "You can come with me, if you want." _Please come with me_. "I... we'd have to make some arrangements, you know, in case something were to happen, but..." It was infinitely easier to be articulate when I was insulting him or arguing with him. "If you want to..."

Pip made a noncommital noise in his throat. "You'd... you'd take me with you?"

"If you want," I repeated, wishing I didn't feel so anxious. At that, Pip laughed, and I was so surprised that I sat up to see if my ears were playing tricks on me... but there he was, bent over his knees, shoulders shaking with quiet laughter.

"I..." He glanced up from between his knees with a guilty smile that made my throat go dry. "Oh, god... my parents _love_ me, Damien. They _love_ me. They took me in when absolutely no one else would, and they gave me a home... a _family_... and _you_... _you're_ the reason I was puking up my own _blood_ the other day... but you're the one I want to go with. Does that make me a horrible person?" I tried to suppress the grin that was creeping its way onto my lips. "Maybe it just makes me crazy..."

"Maybe," I agreed, stomach tight. Pip shook his head, sad eyes betraying his smile.

"I... I _love_ my parents... more than anything in the _world_," he whispered, twisting a strand of hair absently around his finger. "I don't even... I hardly _know_ you..." His finger slowed to a stop as his expression became more serious. "I thought I wanted closure from you, but I don't... I don't want closure at all. I don't even want to _leave_ you. You were the first person to ever fool me into feeling wanted, and I guess I've spent all my life since then craving that feeling." His hand fell to the ground and I realized I was on my knees. "You know what I really want? What I've wanted since I was eight?" His mournful smile was heartbreaking. "I want you to love me."

I immediately jumped to my feet. "_Wh-what?!_"

"Not like _that_, you fucking homophobe," he laughed, chewing at a nail. "There's more than one type of love in the world, you know. 'I love you' doesn't necessarily mean 'I want to fuck your brains out.'"

"Yeah, well," I muttered, still shaken. "It's close enough that I'd rather you not say it around me." He sighed heavily.

"You're heartless."

The words hit me harder than they should've. Maybe after eight hours of mulling over the danger of my feelings for the guy it was just a little off-putting. "No," I replied in a low voice. "I'm not." He laughed as if I were joking.

"You're offended by the very idea of getting emotionally close to me! What else should I believe?" I was so annoyed by his smile that I was tempted to kick him. "It's like you don't even understand human emotion."

I stared at him for a moment, completely nonplused. Was he purposely trying to piss me off? "I don't understand human emotion, huh? You scare the hell out of me, Pip. Why shouldn't I be wary about getting close to you? I'd never been afraid of anything in my life before you barged your way back into it."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, obviously offended.

"It _means_," I replied coolly, "that I've seen murder, rape, torture, bestiality, shit like you wouldn't _believe_, and the only thing that ever scared the living hell out of me was waking up and thinking you were dead. I might've been fucked up last night, and I probably wouldn't have grabbed you like that if I hadn't been... but it doesn't change the fact that I did it because I'd been thinking until that very moment that I'd _killed_ you – that I'd never _see_ you again."

"But—"

"And you know what the worst of it is?" I asked with a humorless laugh, feeling stupid for pouring out these confessions to him when I could hardly stand confessing them to myself. "I really _did_ just want to impress those boys when we were little. I really _did_ care more about my own instant gratification than what might have been the end of your life. I would've killed you without once thinking that nine years later you'd be the only human being in all the world to want me for anything more than power or sex, and for awhile I didn't even believe _that_."

"Damien..."

"Is that human enough?" I was only embarrassing myself now, but for some reason I couldn't shut myself up. "You're right; I haven't ever gotten close enough to anyone to understand what human emotion means... but that doesn't mean I can't feel it." Pip's eyes were settled somewhere about my feet.

"I..." His voice shook. "I'm really... sorry... I didn't know any of that." I looked away over the balcony.

"Doesn't it say anything to you that I want to take you with me?" I asked, and even I wasn't sure whether or not it was a rhetorical question. Pip waited it out, but eventually decided to take a stab at it.

"I don't know," he muttered into his knees. "You're so shut off that I don't know what to make of your feelings. Even when you're kind to me... I don't want to flatter myself thinking you care about me if you don't."

"Pip..." I let out a long exhale and turned back to face him. "Don't make this gay."

He burst out laughing and the tension in my stomach ebbed. "Sorry."

"What do you have to be sorry about?" I asked him with an incredulous smile, offering him my hand to help pull him up. He reluctantly took it. "The world ought to be apologizing to _you_. Honestly, Pip... the only thing you have to be sorry for is convincing an IHOP that I like little boys." He grinned up at me as he was yanked to his feet.

"I'll never apologize for that."

o o o

We left two hours before the sun rose; Damien carried what few possessions we had between the two of us and I concentrated on staying awake long enough to get to the car. We climbed into a black Honda whose headlights Damien refused to turn on. "We'll only attract attention," he insisted. "I don't need headlights to see in the dark." I was too tired to argue. I curled up on the backseat that smelled like coffee and stale french fries and went back to sleep, balling my pajamas up into a makeshift pillow. He'd done this a thousand times before... he knew what he was doing...

My dreams were guilty. My parents cried and Wendy protested and Damien laughed at me with a look of amusement on his face while I sat in the middle of it all with my hands over my ears like a spoiled child tired of being lectured. But I guess I _was_ just a spoiled child, never able to contend with what I had, always wanting what was just out of reach. I already had the love of my parents... now I wanted the love of the least likely person ever to give it to me. Only this set me apart from every other fickle teenager in the world: I didn't want Damien because he didn't want me. I wanted him because I always had. I suppose, really, that's why I was lying in the backseat of the car he maneuvered perfectly in the dark. I'd had to choose between the parents I'd loved for four years and the boy I'd loved in secret for nine. The car hit a pothole and jarred my train of thought. Love... no... I didn't even know what love was. I'd told Damien as much. He was stupid to think otherwise.

"You want anything from McDonald's?" he asked me a couple hours later, and when I opened my eyes I could see the sky streaked with the telltale pink of sunrise. "We're going to have to start changing cars soon, and there won't be any time to stop and eat. You should probably get something now, because I'd really rather not listen to you bitch about being hungry the rest of the way."

"The rest of the way where?" I asked groggily, stretching. Damien twisted around in his seat to look at me, his eyes alive with adventure and his teeth gleaming in a wild grin.

"No idea. We're heading east. We'll stop when we get tired." I smiled placidly.

"Is this really how you live your life?" I couldn't imagine ever being comfortable with a life in which nothing ever stayed the same, but Damien nodded.

"Absolutely. And you're on board now. So tell me what you want to eat, because we're at the speaker right now, and whoever's working the drive-through probably doesn't care about my personal life." Nice.

Damien ordered about half the menu and I asked sleepily for an Egg McMuffin. The girl taking the order giggled and asked us to come forward.

I figured that it wasn't really eavesdropping if I was in the car, so I amused myself listening to the superficial conversation between Damien and whatever girl was working the drive-through. It was then that I began to realize, however, at the increasingly flirtatious inflection in the girl's voice, that Damien was apparently _much_ more alluring than I'd given him credit for. It wasn't just punk college students or oversexed gay waiters that he reeled in... it was everyone he spoke to. The drive-through girl took advantage of our car being the only one in line to strike up a lengthy conversation with Damien, and though her inquiries were innocent enough (where do you go to school? what are you and your friend doing out here so early?) the tone with which her voice dripped said, quite clearly, _fuck me_. It _felt_ like eavesdropping. It felt like I was listening to something I shouldn't be hearing... and it aggravated me for a reason I couldn't understand. When we finally pulled out of the parking lot with three bags of food in tow I snapped irritably, "What was _that_?" Damien laughed from the driver's seat.

"That was my seductive charm at work. Jealous?" I groaned and sat up, head pounding.

"As if. I just don't understand what the fuck is wrong with the female population. You're not _that_ gorgeous." Damien just laughed again.

"Nah," he agreed, running a red light that I hoped no one noticed. "You're definitely prettier than I am. It's too pretty for girls to be interested, though. No girl wants a guy who's better looking than she is. _Boys_, on the other hand, are probably tripping over themselves to stick it to you." Not that I would've expected a different response from him, but I rolled my eyes nonetheless.

"At least that explains the constant swarm of lacrosse players outside my window." Damien clucked his tongue.

"Well, who would ever approach a frigid personality like yours?"

"You," I teased, and I caught his eyes in the rearview mirror, promptly receiving a rude hand gesture. "Throw me my biscuit, would you? It smells delicious." I guess he was a little annoyed with me, because the sandwich hit me square in the face.

"You're welcome."

We switched cars after I finished off the McMuffin. Blue Taurus. It smelled better than the last, like someone wearing vanilla musk had been driving it a few hours ago. Damien complained about the cologne but we drove off in it anyway, this time with both of us in the front seat.

"Do you get that a lot?" I finally asked after we'd been on the road for about thirty minutes, unable to shake the train of thought. Damien raised an eyebrow.

"Get what?"

"You know... girls like that." He didn't look at me, but his brows furrowed and his lips tightened.

"I... yeah, I guess," he muttered after a few moments of silence. I hadn't taken my eyes off him. "I've never really sat down and thought about it, but... I mean, I wasn't that surprised when I ran into you in Middle Park, was I?" I blushed at the insinuation even though I shouldn't have.

"But... why?" He shot a quick sideways glance at me that made it clear my question had been a tactless one.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, you're just... a little too much of an asshole to be anyone's Prince Charming," I reasoned, frowning. He laughed derisively. "I don't mean to be rude, but... how could any girl possibly fall for you?"

"Hey," he shot back. "It's not a girl sitting next to me now, is it?"

"That's different," I muttered, shaking my head. Damien's expression was impossible to make out.

"Is it?"

"Yes!" I insisted, blush deepening.

"Well, there's _some_ reason you're here instead of with your family," he mused cruelly. "And if I'm as bad as you say, maybe you should give a long, hard thought as to what that reason is."

"Trust me, Damien; my being here has nothing to do with attraction or affection. Frankly, anyone else in my position would have fucked you up and left with a clear conscience by now."

The car pulled abruptly to the side of the road and braked just as suddenly. My body lurched forward in my seat and I hit the glove compartment, wincing.

"You wanna get out?"

I stared at Damien as if he were crazy. "What are you talking about?" I groaned, rubbing my arm. He glared back at me with dark eyes that made me shudder involuntarily.

"If you don't want to be here, get the fuck out." I shook my head frantically.

"Damien, calm down, that's not what I—"

"Is this just some game to you?" he demanded, the anger in his eyes truly frightening. "I get that you're pissed off for what I did to you nine years ago, alright? But if you're just here to settle a score you can get out! This isn't just some stupid game to me, Pip, 'cause you know what? I actually like you. You're uptight and annoying and you whine so much I want to slap you sometimes, but even so, you're not like anyone I've met before... but – hey – if you want to go and prove me wrong, _get out_."

"No!" I practically cried, wishing I had kept my stupid mouth shut. "Damien, I want to be here—!"

The look in his eyes was unlike anything I'd ever seen from him, and he averted his gaze from me quickly, turning to face the steering wheel. "Pip... seriously... I think you should go..." He let out a long breath and shut his eyes. "I don't think this is something the two of us can do together."

"I'm not leaving!" I shouted, clutching hold of my seat as though he were about to physically throw me out of the car. "I've been waiting years for the chance to be with you again! This isn't about settling a score, I swear! I just – I want to be with you!" He was grimacing, but he hadn't opened his eyes. "Look, I... I'm not exactly proud of this, but I've been completely obsessed with your memory for as long as I can remember... if I could have it back... I'd do _anything_..."

"I'm not that kid anymore," Damien reminded me, leaning back against the headrest.

"I... I know. But you're still... I still..."

"Why _do_ you want to be with me, Pip?" he asked, finally opening his eyes and staring at the ceiling emotionlessly. I wished he would look at me.

"Because... because for those few days that we were together... I was happy. Look, I don't want to lay a sob story on you... but I didn't really have the happiest childhood." There was an understatement for the world. Damien smiled.

"If I was your brief punctuation of happiness then you're sorrier than I thought." I shook my head even though I was sure he couldn't see it.

"You didn't spit on me."

"That's not much of an accomplishment."

"But it was. Damien, you..." I reached out for his hand, but he immediately recoiled. I guess I should've seen that coming. "You weren't like anyone _I'd_ ever met before."

"Yes I was," he argued softly.

"Well, I forgive you."

"_Why?_" He glanced over at me, the question etched in every line on his face.

"Because even though you drive me out of my mind... you've given me something to live for. Isn't that reason enough?" Damien shook his head and laughed.

"Not even close," he answered, straightening up and shifting the car into drive. "But I'll take it."

o o o

He slept through the entire ride in the third car, which gave me plenty of time to think... about what he'd said, about what _I'd_ said, about how stupid what we were doing was... I think my eyes were on him more often than they were on the road. Fortunately, traffic was light; I slid out of my lane a couple of times. I tried to block him from my sight. If we got pulled over, we'd both be in some pretty deep shit.

I don't know what it was that possessed me to tell him I cared about him... who knew what homoerotic fantasies I was fulfilling. For some reason, I just didn't think properly when I was around him, and I was prone to letting things like that slip when I spoke in auto-drive. Maybe I could solve the whole problem by feigning muteness for the next few months.

Nah... I had too much fun taking the piss out of the guy.

And it wasn't as if what I'd said had been a lie... I _did_ like him. For a human, he was alright; he took my dry humor with a smile, spat back sarcasm with hellish expertise, seemed surprisingly suited for life on the move, and... ha. He was willing to take all the shit that a life with me dished out. No one else – not even the girls he seemed to get so worked up over – had ever been so willing. Pip had yet to figure something out: as much as anyone else, I needed the company of another human to ease the burden of a mortal life. See... what I hadn't told him was this: often, the people who wanted power or sex from me got it.

It had seemed pathetic to care about the guy at first... what the fuck did I owe him? Why should my conscience have to suffer for the sake of some miserable waste of skin and shit? But what Pip offered me was better – better by _far_ – than the hours I'd spent with boys who only knew my name to cheer it drunkenly as I beat the living shit out of a friend for the sheer goddamn thrill of it, or the girls who only needed it to moan something into my shoulders while I fucked them emotionlessly into the ground. When it was all over, I didn't need to tear Pip into bloody pieces to erase the revulsion and disgust. Far from it; I was willing to shred my own pride to pieces in order to keep him around.

I could live without him. If he got up and walked out nothing would change. I would keep running, keep riding, keep pretending that my life was more than just a held breath until the Second Coming. I would go back to the heavy-lidded boys who offered me a hit of X in exchange for the money that would buy their next fix; I would go back to the girls who offered me their too-starved bodies in exchange for a night's worth of self-confidence and a few pretty lies; I would go back to forced smiles and humorless laughs and happiness that only emerged at the sight of blissful red... that's all. I could live without him. I just didn't want to.

I woke him up at sunset to make our move to the last car of the night. He seemed surprised that it was so late. "Oh, Christ," he muttered, rubbing his eyes. "I didn't mean to fall asleep for so long..."

"It's alright," I assured him with a grin. "I like you better when you're asleep anyway." He poked his tongue out at me, but even he must have seen through a lie that transparent. We grabbed our belongings and slid into a silver Chevy in the parking lot of a crowded department store. Pip practically wet himself in excitement when he discovered a Queen disc in the car's CD player.

"_Queen?_" I asked him with deliberate emphasis, eyebrows raised. He let out a pouty huff and shoved me.

"Just shut your fucking mouth, alright?" His tone was cold, but I could practically feel the heat radiating from his cheeks. It was so cute I couldn't help myself.

"'Night at the Opera,' right? Flip it to Death On Two Legs." Pip lit up in an instant and beamed graciously at me, complying gladly.

I didn't know most of the words, and I felt like a fag singing the ones I did, but the two of us sang the whole thing together.


	7. Foreign Policy

**Chapter Seven — Foreign Policy**

We'd have to take more precautions now that there were two of us, Damien told me. We'd have to move weekly instead of monthly. Hotels got suspicious if you stayed, registered, for any longer than that, and it would be safer for me if we were legally (well, the closest thing to it, anyway) boarding. I couldn't blow anyone who questioned the validity of our stay to pieces, he reminded me. I tried to push the thought from my mind.

He decided on a Holiday Inn hotel that was considerably nicer than the Motel 6 we'd been staying at. I pretended that the improvement was on my account. It might have been... but it probably wasn't.

I gathered all our things into a paper shopping bag while Damien parked the car. I started to step out, but Damien stopped me. "Hold on," he said, reaching over to me. "We've gotta fix this hair. It attracts way too much attention." I meant to tell him that _he_ was the one who kept attracting attention, but my words died somewhere between my throat and my mouth when he brushed his fingers through my hair and swept it up beneath my hat. My face flushed red with embarrassment; there was something about having his hands in my hair that bothered me.

"I can do it myself," I breathed, jerking away from him and tucking the rest of my hair beneath the cap myself. His grin was lecherous and it made me blush even more furiously.

"Sorry; did I hit a sore spot? Did a boyfriend of yours used to touch you like that?" It was all so embarrassing that I couldn't help laughing – he was laughing, too.

"Shut the fuck up," I begged, giggling against my will. "Let's just go in, alright? You can wait until we get our room to rape me, can't you?" He let out a sarcastic snort and stepped out of the car.

"Guess I don't have a choice."

It was a quiet walk through the dark parking lot and the elegant lobby. It was about halfway through this lobby, however, that I began to notice how out of place we looked. At the Motel 6, our sloppy dress sense and general air of teenage mischief fit right in. In a room decorated with golden, half-moon sconces and floral brocade sofas, we stood out like a sore thumb. Damien either didn't notice or didn't care, but when he paused at the counter the receptionist certainly seemed to. I felt my knees buckle slightly as she cast a cold look down at the paper bag I was holding in my arms. "Can I help you?" she asked haughtily, as though there was something other than a room we could possibly want from her.

"Yes, thank you," Damien replied smoothly, the tone of his voice deceptively friendly. I was beginning to wonder if this was how he handled himself around all women. He bent forward over the counter to the receptionist and whispered in a voice that he left loud enough for me to hear, "My friend just got out of a nasty fight with his parents on my account, and I figure it's the least I can do to put him up somewhere nice until things settle down back home." Nice cover. "Here's my credit card; two bed, please." The woman smiled kindly at him, obviously every bit as enchanted with him as everyone else.

"How sweet of you," she purred, and she even turned kind eyes on me, paper bag and all. Damien was fucking brilliant. "Just fill this out and I'll get you two set up with something nice." Damien took a pen and produced what I could only imagine was a page full of lies while the receptionist checked and confirmed his credit card.

I might have felt bad for the trouble she'd be in a week from now if she hadn't glared at us like some sort of disease when we walked in. As it was, I was satisfied that Damien's charm and good looks were enough to manipulate her, and trotted off guiltlessly with him a few minutes later, carrying a room key we didn't need. "You're so full of shit," I praised him as we made our way down to the elevator, to which he grinned cheekily.

"Suddenly this is an endearing quality?"

"Not really. She just had it coming to her." I pushed the UP button with a smile.

"Pip, according to you, every woman who looks at me has it coming to her. This is becoming a serious complex."

"Well I don't want to share." The lighted numerals above the doors flickered: 3... 2... 1...

"Obviously."

The doors opened, and we stepped in. The elevator car was paneled with mirrors, and it made me self-conscious to see myself standing there in my huge clothes, carrying a paper bag full of belongings like a vagabond. It was also humbling to see myself standing in the shadow of Damien, who wasn't exactly well-dressed either but did at least look more sophisticated than I. Damien had said earlier that day that he thought I was pretty, but I certainly didn't think so. Maybe it was the clothing I was wearing, or the fact that my hair – a rare pride of mine – was all tucked away out of sight, but in the elevator mirrors I didn't look like I deserved to be standing next to Damien. He must have noticed me scoping out our reflections, because he asked smugly, catching my eye in the mirror, "I look good, don't I?"

"You're a jerk," I replied, poking my tongue out.

"That doesn't answer my question." God, what a dick.

"Whatever... sure: you're gorgeous. I'd fuck you right here if I could."

"I know."

I rolled my eyes and shoved him into the wall, making sure I was the first one off the elevator.

Our room was at the far end of the hall, and I realized with no small thrill that we'd have windows on two walls. In all fairness, they would probably just be overlooking the highway, but I loved sunlight in the morning and we had a 50/50 shot at an eastern exposure. If not, we'd at least have a great view during sunset, and that was almost as good. Now, if we had a balcony... I withdrew the room key I'd been carrying from my pocket and unlocked the door, bounding in and almost immediately spotting the sliding glass door I'd been hoping for at the opposite end of the room. I let out a little cry of excitement and heard Damien clap his hands to his ears behind me, but I no longer had much conscious control of my volume. I dropped the bag I was holding, its contents spilling all over the floor, and flew around the room like a bat out of hell, soaking in the floral bedspreads, floor-length curtains and spackled walls like sunshine. "It's beautiful!" I exclaimed, and Damien groaned as a sort of instinctive response.

"Christ, haven't you ever been in a hotel room before?" he asked with a dark laugh, and out the corner of my eye I could see him picking the things I'd scattered up off the floor and onto a nearby desk.

"Not one as nice as this... I've never really traveled." I hopped over to the balcony door and pressed my nose against it, gazing fondly out at the blinking nightlife. "Oh, Damien, let's stay here forever..." When I turned around, Damien was shaking his head at me.

"You're embarrassing," he muttered, testing out the mattress of the bed nearest the door. I wondered if this was a pattern with him. "We'll have to buy some nicer clothes, but I'll take you to a Hilton someday... maybe the Waldorf Astoria in New York... you'll wet yourself."

"Is it nice?" I asked with wide eyes, kicking off my shoes to feel the carpet beneath my toes. He smiled up at me with something like rapture in his eyes.

"Too nice for someone like me to stay in. There are bathrooms there the size of this entire _room_."

"What on earth would you do with a bathroom that big?"

"Shit in it?" he suggested with a perfectly innocent tone. I laughed in response and pulled open the balcony door, gesturing with my free hand for him to follow me outside. He may not have shared my enthusiasm over the amenity, but he did at least humor my request. He slid the door shut behind us and leaned over the railing, blowing out a cloud of breath into the cool air. "You know," he mused, glancing sideways at me. "We had a balcony at the Motel 6, too."

I clucked my tongue impatiently. "It doesn't count when it doubles as a walkway. Besides," I added, sliding down the railing into a seated position and pulling my feet up onto my thighs because the cement was cold against my skin. "This is just ours."

"Just ours," he repeated quietly, and something about the way he said it made me shiver. He looked back off into the distance of the town, and I felt suddenly tiny, cross-legged on the cement while he stood towering above me. He looked so much more elegant in the darkness than he had inside, white skin illuminated by the glittering light of street lamps and open windows. I fully appreciated for the first time what so attracted women to him, and it was flattering to know that this man – who was still essentially a stranger – had chosen me above all of them to be by his side. It also struck me fully at that moment how very sad it was that this beautiful personage existed only to rebel against God and then be destroyed. I was never very religious, but I knew what his fate was.

"Damien," I asked suddenly, and he turned away from the city lights to look at me with his usual mild expression. "Do you ever wish you weren't the antichrist?"

He didn't smile or frown, but thought the question over silently for a minute or so. "Not really," he finally said, drumming his fingers against the balcony railing. "I don't really see what difference it would make." I thought that was a stupid thing to say, but I didn't voice the opinion.

"Of course it would make a difference," I opted to say instead. "You could lead a normal life... be a normal kid... have normal rela—"

"We all die in the end," he interrupted, cutting me short. "Human or not, my life ends with an eternity in hell. You're a sweet kid, Pip, and I'm not, but ultimately we'll both meet the same fate. One thousand years from now, there will be no difference between us."

I tried to ignore the fact that he had just condemned me to hell and said shakily, "That's bleak."

"Sorry," he apologized with a laugh, combing a hand through his messy hair. "But that's how it is. Well... I don't know. That's how it is for most people." He shot me a curious look before turning around and leaning backwards against the rail. "You're kind of a freak... you might never forget earth. You'll probably be in charge of some Hell Beautification Committee... and just so you know, I won't have any part in it." I grinned at him, wishing I'd left my shoes on so I could stay out on the balcony longer. It was strange, but I enjoyed his dry conversation. I wasn't used to round-the-clock company... and it was nice. Unfortunately, my feet were protesting against the weather.

"Damien," I started, wiggling my toes to make sure I could still feel them. "Er... I'm sorry, but my feet are about to freeze off." He just rolled his eyes.

"Don't apologize; just go back inside, dumbass." Deciding that I didn't really feel that bad about having to go inside after all, I pulled a face at him and stood up, walking back into the hotel room. I left the door open for him, but he didn't follow me in. He turned around to face the town again, back towards me. Shrugging my shoulders, I closed the door to keep out the cold and walked over to the bed that would apparently be mine for the next week. I turned off the lights, undressed, climbed into bed, decided that I needed to go the bathroom, then climbed in again, but Damien was still outside, staring off at God knows what.

I wondered as I drifted off what he might be thinking about... his way of life was so foreign to me that I didn't even know what his days consisted of. School might constitute some small portion of his life, but apparently formal education was something that came and went with his personas. Traveling seemed like a large component... ducking the law in the process... but what was his life beyond that? He'd made it clear that he'd never been close to anyone before... at least, not very close. Was I the only person he'd ever traveled with? Was I one of hundreds? Did he live his life like a hermit or a whore? I had no idea... but I was curious. It was strange that, even as I lay feet away from him, he was still such an enigma to me. Who knew... maybe that's what drew me to him.

_Are we friends?_ I wondered on the very brink of consciousness. _Are we less?_

_Are we more?_

o o o

I hated to admit that Pip was right, but there was something decidedly nicer about a balcony that you didn't have to share with every other resident of the hotel. It was somewhere private to collect your thoughts, and privacy was something I'd always placed high value on. Even when I was completely by myself, I was almost never alone.

"How truly pathetic you're becoming," my reflection in the sliding glass door hissed when I turned around to check on Pip, who was sleeping soundly. I smiled bitterly down at the ground, because it was my own conscience reprimanding me.

"Maybe," I conceded, leaning backwards against the railing. My reflection glowered at me.

"What is it exactly that you're planning to do with this kid, huh? You're jeopardizing Dad's plans for the sake of someone who's of absolutely _no_ use to you _whatsoever_."

"He's good for a laugh," I shrugged.

"_A laugh?_" the reflection snarled. "Is that worth all the mountains of _shit_ you are rapidly creating for yourself?"

I frowned and tapped my foot against the concrete. "Pip isn't exactly the Second Coming of Christ, in case no one else has noticed."

"All he has to be is an obstacle... and whether his allegiance belongs to heaven or hell, that's what he is... his intentions are completely irrelevant. You've been with this kid for less than a week... is that all the time it takes to win you over? Is that all the time it takes before you're ready to throw your _life_ away for someone?"

"He's not going to _be_ with me for that long," I muttered, feeling heated.

"This isn't up for casual debate!" my reflection plowed on in complete ignorance of my last statement. "You're not exactly in a position to say 'oh, the fuck with it!' It's not a now or never type of gig! You fuck up now and you'll just have to do it all over again – and do you think this kid is going to be with you through _that_?"

"Let's give him an infinite number of lives and find out," I said with a laugh that was cut short.

"Damien!"

I glanced sorrowfully into the room again; Pip looked so tiny in that big bed. "He doesn't have anyone else..."

"Maybe you've forgotten the family he left behind in Park County."

"No," I went on, eyes never leaving the sleeping blonde. "I mean... he's never had anyone there for him... as a friend."

My reflection laughed derisively. "Surely you don't think you can fill that void? With a heart like yours, you're no more fit to be this kid's confidant than you are to be his lover; as anything but a monster, Damien, you're worthless." I lowered my gaze and shut my eyes to block out the glass, but it kept talking. "No matter how much you convince yourself otherwise, the only purpose of your existence is to lead the revolution against heaven."

"Yeah? Well maybe that sucks."

"It doesn't matter if it sucks! It's your fate!"

"No," I argued, shaking my head. "There is no such thing as fate; what I do is my own decision."

"Then you'll live forever, each of your lives as miserable and pathetic as this one! Don't you _get_ it? You'll never be free until you fulfil your role as the antichrist! The gates of Hades won't open for you until you're struck down by God himself! In a thousand years, do you think this kid will ever appreciate that? Will he stand by your side while you massacre millions, or will he run? Think about that!"

"Who the fuck says I have to lead the revolution at seventeen?" I growled. "And who the fuck says he's going to be with me forever? What difference will it make decades from now whether or not someone cares for me at this very moment?"

"_Does he care enough for you that he would live eternally – knowing he would be fated to make the same mistakes and face the same tragedies – always alone?_"

"How the fuck would you know?!" I roared, and punched the glass so hard it sent a sharp crack from the point of impact to the doorframe. My reflection didn't speak. I sunk to the ground and buried my head in my hands, breathing heavily.

o o o

Damien wasn't in the bedroom when I woke up, and after a puzzled search I realized that he wasn't in the bathroom or on the balcony either. I even checked the closet (why, I cannot say) but he was nowhere to be found. His bed didn't look as though it had been slept in the night before, which worried me further. I took a shower and shaved, but when I walked back into the room in a towel he was still gone. I started to panic, but then I noticed the gleaming card on the night stand and smiled. If he'd left his credit card here, he intended to come back. I dressed cheerfully in the morning sun; I'd gotten my eastern exposure.

I still felt stupid in the clothes Damien had picked up for me, but unless I wanted to go downstairs in my pajamas I didn't really have an alternative. I tugged on the hat last, making sure to tuck my hair under it. I wasn't sure why it bothered Damien so to leave it down, but for whatever reason, it did, and unlike him I didn't take obscene pleasure in pissing people off. It was so much easier to just go with the flow. I walked over to the night stand and bent down to pick up Damien's card, but I noticed a little business card next to it that read _Please enjoy a complimentary continental breakfast!_ which made me smile. Either way, I wasn't paying for my food... but I still felt better not having to steal it.

A maid who looked disapprovingly at my outfit pointed me down to the buffet hall; it was a nice little room, painted a cheery gold like everything else in the hotel, and though it had no windows nearly every inch of wall was covered in sunny watercolor paintings. I didn't have much time to appreciate the atmosphere, however, because at the opposite end of the hall was the continental buffet, and I all but ran for it. Damien had been serious yesterday about the McDonald's being our only stop for food, and after going twenty-four hours on nothing but a McMuffin sandwich... well, I was starving.

I tried to be polite while I piled food onto my plate at the buffet, but I knew that people were staring at the troublesome-looking kid who was balancing about ten pounds of food on his plate. I couldn't help myself... everything looked so good. It's not like I'd ever see these people again anyway. I slid my plate from right to left along the gleaming counters, practically drooling over the sneeze guard. I don't think there was a single selection from which I didn't take at least one item. I had two blueberry muffins, one cheese Danish and one coffee cake apiece, two apple turnovers, three bagels, a croissant with ham and cheese, and a cinnamon roll with way too much icing. I had just reached over to grab one last piece of food when a high-pitched voice from behind me rattled me senseless.

"Oh, good...! I was waiting for someone to take one of those!"

After successfully jumping and banging both my knees painfully against the buffet counter, I whipped around to see a young girl looking up at me. She looked about fifteen or sixteen, had her blonde hair braided into two plaits over her shoulders, and was smiling guiltily. "Sorry for surprising you," she apologized. "I didn't mean to scare you into the counter like that." Thank you for the insult to injury. "I've just been wondering what those were." She pointed to the muffin in my hand and I went red for a reason she wouldn't appreciate.

"Oh, um..." Hello, Mr. English Stereotype. "It's a crumpet." The girl frowned, looked down at the muffin, back up at me, then laughed.

"Well, I feel stupid." She blew a stray strand of hair out of her face, and I wondered how hygienic it was to do that around the food. "I never _did_ know exactly what a crumpet was... guess I've killed two birds with one stone, though, huh?" Her smile was so sweet and naive that it made me smile, too. "I didn't think anyone except Sherlock Holmes fans and Brits knew what crumpets were, but I guess America's gone and become cultured without me." I laughed and shook my head.

"Not at all. I'm English," I explained, making some unintentional gesture with the crumpet in my hand. "Used to be, anyway. I promise you, I'd have no idea what a crumpet was otherwise; I don't read Holmes." She looked torn between giggling and gaping, though she leaned towards the latter.

"You're... really?" When she realized she was pointing stupidly at me, she withdrew her hand and smacked herself on the forehead with it. "Oh, I'm sorry... god, I'm so rude. I'm the reason every other country in the world hates America. I guess deep down I just expect every British guy I meet to wear a bow tie and speak in an affected accent. I'm... ugh." She rolled her head back and pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head at God. I laughed and tapped her on the shoulder to let her know it was alright, though I was still holding the crumpet and probably managed to get crumbs all over her.

"Hey, don't sweat it," I said in a cheery voice, warmed by this silly girl's company. "I had a bow tie and an affected voice once; stereotypes exist for a reason."

"Ha," the girl replied, looking back at me and beaming. "Like the dumb blonde?" she asked, tugging at one of her ponytails. I shot her a grin.

"Exactly." Her giggle was girly and nasal, and reminded me fondly of Wendy, whom I hadn't thought of until that very moment. "What's your name, anyway? I feel rude not having asked." She flipped her wrist in a little wave that I'd seen girls do before but never understood.

"Sara. I'm here with my parents, but they haven't come downstairs yet. What about you?" I wasn't sure how much she was asking, but I figured my name would be sufficient.

"Philip." Not that anyone called me that... but after her reaction to my being British I thought it might be dangerous telling her that my name was Pip. "But please don't call me Phil, or I may have to kill you." She giggled again and I reached up to scratch the back of my head beneath my hat, but a lock of hair must have fallen loose, because she stopped laughing abruptly, and when I paused to see what was wrong she was staring at a spot just above my shoulder.

"You're a blonde, too," she said – a statement, not a question. I felt awkward and unsure of what to do, like a ballerina who's lost her shoe in the middle of a performance.

"Oh... uh... yeah," I managed lamely. She bit her lip and looked intently at me.

"I... um, I don't mean to be rude... but why are you wearing that cap, anyway?" Well, it _was_ rude, but I knew she didn't mean any harm in it. I looked up instinctively (as though I could somehow see the top of my head) and put a hand to the knit wool.

"Well... promise not to laugh?" Sara considered.

"Unless you've secretly got an ass growing out the back of your head, I promise."

"Oh... well, in that case, I guess I'll keep it on." She giggled and I tugged the hat off, blonde hair tumbling to my shoulders. I bent over so she could see the stitches, and she let out a horrified gasp.

"Oh my god!" she whispered, immediately stepping closer and putting a hand on my shoulder, which made my breath catch in my throat. "What happened?"

"I got into a fight, actually," I confessed, wondering whether I should feel bad for admitting the truth or embarrassed for letting her know how badly I'd been beaten up. When I looked up to get a better idea, she was only smiling kindly at me.

"But you're okay now?" I nodded.

"Oh yeah. I mean, I'm not entirely sure where I am right now, but I remember my name and my coordination seems fine." She laughed that silly little laugh of hers and lifted her hand from my shoulder to stroke my hair; my cheeks went up in flame.

"I'm glad you're alright," she said softly, and I could see that she was blushing a little herself. "But it's too bad about your hair." Hadn't I heard that somewhere before? "It's beautiful..."

"Oh... um... thank you." I had no idea what to do... I was frozen there, completely and utterly frozen. I had my hands in the air like some kind of idiot, and I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do with them. Should I put them on her shoulders? Touch the hand she was combing through my hair? Grab my plate and run? After carefully considering these possibilities and coming to the conclusion that I had absolutely no experience with girls and would only manage to make things worse for myself, I decided to go with the latter. "I should, uh... probably get started on this," I said nervously, pointing down at the plate I'd left sitting on the counter. Her expression fell immediately, so I added quickly, "I mean, I'd love to eat with you, if your parents won't mind. It's just... the friend I'm with... I haven't seen him since last night, and I need to find him." She nodded, her smile returning... but then an odd expression passed over her face.

"Hey, uh... Philip? Is your friend by any chance the dark-haired boy glaring a hole into the back of your head?" I whipped around – face paling – and there he was.

Damien was standing in the double doorway with his arms crossed over his chest, wearing the coldest expression I'd seen on his face since the night in Middle Park.


	8. Achilles' Heel

**Chapter Eight — Achilles' Heel**

Pip was still pissed off about it hours later. I didn't think it was such a big deal, really. I was completely over it by the time I'd finished breakfast; Pip wouldn't even stay in the buffet hall with me. He stormed out furiously the moment I let his wrist go, which I'd had to grab to keep him from chasing after his little friend... Sara, wasn't it? I was actually amazed at how indignant he was over the situation. I was watching the five o'clock news and he was still fuming.

"I don't even understand why you did it!" he raged for the thousandth time. Annoyed, I turned up the volume on the television set. "I mean, surely you weren't _jealous_!"

"Oh, I was," I replied dully, raising the volume a few more bars and realizing that it wouldn't go up any further. "You know how I get, darling... I just can't stand it when you get that close to anyone but me." Pip groaned and stomped over towards me, wrestling the remote out of my hands and drawing an anguished cry of surprise on my part. He flipped the TV off and threw the remote halfway across the room, kicking me in the shin when I made to get up and retrieve it. "OW!"

"Don't you think you owe me some sort of explanation?" I glared at him and rubbed my leg.

"Isn't it punishment enough that I've had to listen to you bitch about it the entire day? Christ, if I'd known you were going to be such a pussy about it I wouldn't have said anything in the first place."

"You _shouldn't_ have said anything!" he snapped heatedly, angry pink blotches coloring his cheeks. "What sort of threat could she _possibly_ have posed to you? In case you had any doubt, I _wasn't_ standing there explaining to her that you were the embodiment of the antichrist and that I needed her alliance to head off your reign of chaos." I thought that was witty of him and smiled despite the pain.

"You can never be too careful about that sort of thing."

"Oh, blow it out your ass!" He turned bitterly and resumed his pacing, which he'd been at for the last hour and a half while I watched TV in the background. I might have resumed my half of the exercise, too, if there was anything to watch but a blank screen. "You had absolutely no reason to run her off like that except to humiliate me, and I'm not sure why you're so annoyed now because you certainly succeeded!"

"You can't get _involved_ with anyone when you live like this," I tried to explain to him, my voice exhausted. I leaned back onto the bed to avoid looking at him because it was giving me a headache. He laughed as though the response was funny.

"And that justifies going up to some girl I'm having a _completely_ harmless conversation with and announcing loudly that my boyfriend has been looking for me all night and that you're not going to cover my ass anymore if I keep scamming on him with random chicks?" I laughed because I absolutely could not help myself.

"I thought the story would be more effective if it was a guy instead of a girl. When you swing both ways, everyone's a target."

"You're unbelievable!" He emphasized the point with a dramatic sigh, which I know he only did for my benefit, because no one on earth could really need to exhale that much air in one breath. "She _hit_ me. She actually _hit_ me!"

I didn't need to be reminded; I was still savoring that particular memory. Even at the time, it had been almost impossible to keep a straight face through. It was one thing to waltz up to Pip with an angry monologue that hardly required acting, but it was another thing entirely to watch the red-faced girl he'd just been cozying up to turn on him with an angry slap and not laugh. It had definitely appeased the vindictive streak in me. "Well, I would've been pissed off, too."

"Maybe if I'd actually _done_ something!" he shouted. I propped myself up on my elbows to look at him and noticed that he was tugging angrily at his hair, which perturbed me. I wanted to tell him to quit it, but I didn't know if he'd appreciate the fact that I was more concerned about his hair than I was about him.

"You showed her your scar," I noted shortly, though that wasn't exactly an answer to his statement. He stopped to stare at me with a baffled expression, but at least he quit pulling at his hair.

"So what? I didn't tell her how I got it."

"What did you tell her?" I genuinely wanted to hear his answer. We'd never discussed this. With the television on to engage my interest, I'd had no real reason to listen or respond to any of Pip's ranting.

Pip shrugged indifferently. "I told her I got into a fight."

"Isn't that how you got it?"

"I didn't say anything about you."

"Naturally." I leaned back again, trying not to care if he pulled all his hair out. "It's not like it would've mattered, anyway; the chick doesn't know who I am. What matters is that you pulled a pity card on some girl you _can't_ take with you, some girl you can't even explain what you're doing at this hotel to. It's obvious that you still don't know how to handle this sort of life, Pip; I doubt you _have_ a story. What were you going to do if she asked? Most girls needs some sort of reassurance before they put out."

"Nothing _happened_!" he growled, frustrated. I raised my eyebrows at the ceiling.

"But would something have happened if I hadn't shown up?" I heard him pause, take a breath, then walk over towards my bed. With his hands on his hips and a frown on his face, he bent down over me, making it impossible to look away.

"_Nothing. Happened._" His tone was unusually firm. "And I don't see why you'd care otherwise." I huffed disdainfully to let him know that there was perfectly logical reasoning behind my actions and that they'd had nothing to do with jealousy, which was what he seemed to be getting at.

"I don't want you getting me into trouble, alright? I'm not slimy enough that I'll leave you behind without remorse, but if you don't give me any other option..." I trailed off there, then added as some final sort of clarification, "I value my ass above yours." He rolled his eyes and shoved me, which had absolutely no effect as I was already lying down.

"So, what, did you think I was going to fuck her right there in the buffet hall, draw the attention of several security guards and government personnel, then scream out your name and location in a moment of passion?" When he said it like that I couldn't help feeling stupid, and it must've shown on my face because he smiled victoriously afterwards, but I knew I was right and wasn't about to let him take that assuredness away from me.

"You can't get involved with _anyone_, Pip. It doesn't matter how meaningless you think the relationship is; every time you let your guard down because of a pretty face you open yourself up to actual affection. Tell me what the fuck I'm supposed to do if you actually fall for someone you're willing to jeopardize our safety for, someone you discover you want to tell the truth to. A bleeding heart like yours is bound to slip up like that, and frankly, I'd rather not have to kill some girl you have genuine feelings for just to save my own ass. I might've fucked with you a little, but I didn't run that girl off just for the thrill of it." He didn't seem consoled.

"Couldn't you have just... _told_ me this?" I shrugged nonchalantly.

"I needed the laugh."

"You're an asshole." I cracked a grin at him which made him go a bashful shade of red.

"Not me."

"Of course not," he laughed sarcastically, straightening up and walking out of my line of vision. It felt strangely empty in the room without him looming angrily over me. "You ditch me to go hang out... _wherever_ the hell you disappeared to last night... leave me all alone in the room for the good part of the morning... wait until I finally find someone to keep me company, then completely _humiliate_ me in front of her... and you do it all to spare my feelings." He chuckled to himself. "You're really a great guy, huh?"

"Incredible." I wondered how sarcastic I was being. My explanation had been honest. So I'd had some fun at his expense... one way or another, I _would've_ had to get rid of that girl. Would it have been any less cruel to let them get close before having to suddenly part without any explanation he could possibly give to her? "I'm the best friend you'll ever have."

I think he ignored my comment. "Where _did_ you go last night? I panicked a little when I noticed you weren't here. I checked the closet and everything; I thought maybe you'd left."

Something twisted and self-indulgent in me savored the thought of him worrying whether I'd left him alone in the middle of nowhere, frantically searching the room for signs of me. "I found a bar in town," I answered honestly, seeing no benefit in lying.

"So you went and got _drunk_." There was a disapproving inflection in his voice that made me instinctively grimace.

"No," I said curtly. "I was just moody, and I like the atmosphere in places like that. It's always a great pick-me-up, watching guys too liquored-up to navigate their way past their own barstool trying to score with chicks too liquored-up to tell the difference." That was honest, too. I'd never liked alcohol; I didn't see the appeal in dumbing yourself down for fun. It did cheer me up to watch others partake in the sport, however.

"What were you moody over?"

I wasn't sure how to answer that one, so I didn't. "Personal matters."

"What kind of 'personal matters' could you possibly have?"

I sat up on the bed to stare at Pip incredulously. He had that usual innocent expression on, like his question had been perfectly within the realm of polite conversation. "Do you think I lived in a _cave_ until I met up with you?" I asked loudly, shaking my head at him with some small degree of wonder. "I'm living in the same world you are, sweetheart, and – as I'm not a vegetable, or whatever you seem to think I am – I've got my own issues with it, too."

"Like what?"

"Like it's none of your business," I replied in a sing-song tone that made him roll his eyes theatrically. He was so fucking self-righteous I just wanted to smack him.

"You know," he began in a voice that warned me I was in for a preaching, "maybe if you'd _talk_ with someone about what's bothering you instead of just projecting your feelings onto them, you wouldn't be such a jackass." I stared at him in complete awe.

"Thank you, Pip, for those sage words of advice."

"You might try it!" he huffed, pink in the face again. "Watching people humiliate themselves all night obviously didn't cheer you up _that_ much if you had to come right back and humiliate _me_!"

"Maybe _you_ were the one who was bothering me in the first place."

There was a pregnant silence in which he looked angrily away at the window. "Like I said," he muttered finally. "You're a jackass." Then he walked out of the room, leaving me to wonder briefly what the fuck his problem was before I walked after him, picked up the remote, and turned the television back on.

o o o

There were a lot of things I didn't understand about Damien. For one, I didn't understand why he had broken me out of the hospital in South Park, nursed me back to health while I recovered from said breaking out, then taken me with him on the road... when he was frequently making it clear to me that I annoyed the hell out of him. Nor did I understand _what_ I did to annoy him so. Granted, the two of us had done our share of rowing, but – as far as I could tell – _he'd_ instigated every fight of ours. What I understood the least, however... was what sort of troubling personal life he could lead when he considered me his closest acquaintance and still treated me like a troublesome stranger. Outside the door, where I could hear the television start back up, I fought back embarrassed tears.

For whatever reason, I was attached to him. Maybe it was the fact that in-between our aggressive arguing he treated me with something almost like compassion... or maybe I so desperately needed a friend that in my mind that's what I made him out to be. His consistent inconsistency drove me crazy. Despite what he said, I wondered if he really _could_ feel human emotions other than anger and apathy. He was more hot and cold than anyone I'd met, and that included people like Wendy Testaburger and Eric Cartman. Yesterday he'd confessed that I was the first person he'd ever genuinely wanted to be with... I could still feel the heat the words had evoked in my stomach. How... _how_ had I managed to piss him off so spectacularly between then and this morning? Maybe I'd been a bit of a prat about the room, but did that really warrant the scene downstairs? It was bad enough to be spurned by my classmates at home, who'd grown up hating me and couldn't really be expected to change their attitude so late on... but to have some unfamiliar girl – a girl who'd actually been _kind_ to me – turn on me just because of that ridiculous load of crap Damien had come up with... especially when I couldn't understand why he'd done it in the first place... that was awful.

He couldn't understand, I reasoned to myself, walking the length of the hallway because I felt as though Damien could instinctively _tell_ if I was crying nearby and didn't want to give him that satisfaction. Women tripped over themselves around him, and apparently the occasional man, too. He might have been a social leper, but something told me that ever since he'd grown into that body he'd never actually been refused by anyone. He obviously couldn't remember much of his childhood, and it held to reason that he couldn't remember what it was like to be rejected, either. Maybe he really had no idea that it had _hurt_ to be treated so coldly by the first girl since Wendy to see me as an actual human being... that was the only thing that even vaguely made sense to me. The only other explanation was jealousy... and I was out of my mind if I thought Damien would ever be jealous of anyone on my account.

The thought bothered me, and I wondered miserably if I _had_ developed something of a complex over him. Deciding that brooding over the matter was only going to make me feel worse, I ventured downstairs to find a payphone, because right now I needed some mild degree of sanity, even if I had to get it from someone who only knew the meaning of the word because she'd read the dictionary thrice over.

I didn't have any money, and I wasn't about to go back up to the room where Damien would only make some smart-ass crack that would end in my punching him in the face. Remembering a bizarre AT&T commercial with Mr. T, I dialed the collect number into a payphone just outside the lobby. I punched in Wendy's number after being politely instructed to do so, and upon being asked for my name I answered "Annie" in the highest voice I could muster, because having her parents receive a collect call from a missing child could quite quickly escalate into an affair that... well... wasn't in my best interest. Praying that she and Annie had been on good terms recently but weren't actually hanging out together, I crossed my fingers and waited for the call to be accepted. After a few seconds, Wendy's nasal voice came through. "Hello? Annie?" Relief washed over me.

"Hey Wendy," I replied brightly, dropping the accent. I had come to expect just about anything from Wendy, and the bizarre reception I received upon this greeting was no exception.

Her first reaction was to inhale sharply, then stop breathing for several seconds. After she had finished this, she proceeded to pant heavily into the phone while she – judging by the heavy footsteps and creaking wood – raced either up or down the stairs, shut several doors behind her in procession, locked the last with a very loud click, threw something at something else, which sounded as though it could've been a brick at a lamp but probably wasn't, then stopped breathing again. When she recovered, she asked in a voice that began as a whisper and grew rapidly into a shout, "_Where the HELL __**ARE YOU**_"

"I'm not sure, really. Maybe in Kansas. Not any farther than that. It's nice to hear your voice, though."

"Pip... what are you _doing_?!" she cried, sounding horrified and furious and reproachful all at the same time. "Why are you in _Kansas_?! Why are you not at _home_?!"

"Couldn't tell you if I wanted to. Say, are my parents alright?" Wendy made some disbelieving noise in her throat.

"Of course they're not!" she shouted. "Their son has run off to Kansas because he's a complete lunatic! I'm pretty sure they think you're dead!"

"Dead?"

"Dead!" she repeated, the fury in her voice gradually overpowering any of the other aforementioned emotions. "Apparently they received a call Sunday saying you were staying with some suicidal friend, a second call Tuesday saying the situation had worsened and that you were still needed around, and then nothing for two days! No one knows who the fuck your friend is supposed to be – probably because he doesn't exist – but everyone thinks he offed the both of you and that your bodies are frozen somewhere in the Rockies."

"How morbid. Please inform my parents that I'm neither dead nor frozen in the Rockies."

"Pip, I'm serious... what are you doing?! Why haven't you come back home?"

I took a long breath before delving in, because I knew that my answer was highly unlikely to sit well with Wendy. "I'm with Damien right now." She let out a noise of protest, as if she disagreed with some opinion I was presenting.

"No..."

"Um... yeah, I—"

"No, I mean..." Wendy's voice was incredulous. "I mean, isn't he the reason you were in the hospital to begin with? Isn't he the one who burst your head open?"

Ouch. Awkward. "Uh... yes."

"So... what... did he come to finish you off?"

"No..."

"Decide you were worth ransom?"

"No..."

"What then?" I wondered if she realized how utterly worthless she was making me feel.

"He... he felt bad about the whole thing... and he came back for me Friday night... I mean, it was miserable there, especially with all the media coverage, so... I left with him..."

"You were on an IV!" she objected, as though this was an issue up for debate. "You took yourself off medical support to leave with the guy who put you there in the first place?"

"I..." I could feel my cheeks heating up. "Look, I can't explain it properly, alright? I know it doesn't sound like it makes sense—"

"Because it doesn't!"

"—but I just... _needed_ to go with him."

There was a long pause on Wendy's end of the line. "And now the two of you are in Kansas."

"I told you, I don't really know where we—"

"Where is he?"

I frowned, taken aback. "What?"

"_Where is he?_" she repeated, irritated. She sounded like she was three times her age and about to hit me. "He's with you, isn't he?"

"N-not... not right now..."

"Where are you calling from?" I looked about me as if I didn't know.

"A payphone outside the Holiday Inn."

"Christ," she moaned. "Is that where you're staying?"

"Oh... yeah."

"Are you two fuck buddies now or something?"

"Wendy!"

"Sorry." She didn't sound very apologetic, but then Wendy never did. It wasn't in her nature to be wrong. "I just... I just don't understand what's going on right now. I've been worrying myself sick over you... the girls at school think I've got a bad case of PMS because I keep randomly bursting into tears during class... and now you call me up when no one's seen you in a week to tell me that not _only_ do you have no intention of coming home, but you're on the run with a guy who's got more of a track record than Jack the Ripper." That was an eloquent way of putting it, I thought.

"Wendy..."

"I wanted you to _find_ him," she went on, her voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't want you to _run away_ with him."

I couldn't think of a good response to that. With Wendy's voice in my ear, the whole thing seemed absolutely ludicrous. I suppose I'd known that from the start, but now the reality of the fact was drilling away at me, and I felt like such an idiot. "It's just that... I've got... unfinished business with him, you know?"

"Couldn't you just settle it by breaking his nose?" I laughed because I knew she was serious.

"I'd try if I wasn't so afraid of getting my head smashed in," I admitted with a smile she couldn't see. "Wendy... please don't be angry with me... or – if you have to – don't let me know it. This whole thing is... insane, you're right... but I called you because that's sort of what I wanted to hear." She made a mollified noise on her end. "And, look, I'm really sorry if I worried you, I really am. You're the only one I could ever talk to about this... I don't want to be causing you any grief. I don't want to be causing anyone grief. Listen..." I cast about awkwardly for the right words. "I want... I want you to tell my parents that I'm okay, but... but just this one time."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, if you tell them that I'm doing fine every time I call you, they'll start to wonder why I'm not just calling _them_."

"Oh... Pip..." She sighed demurely, her usual feminine response to being bestowed confidence upon. "Call me whenever, okay?"

"Okay," I promised, smiling. "But you've got to keep this a secret... _please_... I know it seems dangerous, but this is something I have to do... you know better than anyone what kind of shit this guy has caused for me. I have to resolve this or it'll keep driving me crazy for the rest of my life."

"I... fine," Wendy agreed reluctantly. "But if things start to look bad, I'll tell everyone what you're up to. So don't fuck up."

"Fair enough."

Wendy drew in a long breath, obviously still unsure exactly how she was supposed to feel. "I don't like this, you know," she said finally. "But I'm glad that you're alright... and I'm glad that you can trust me enough to tell me so. Please... if anything goes wrong... if you ever feel like you're not safe... tell me. I'll be wherever you are in a heartbeat with two plane tickets home."

My cheeks went warmer, but it wasn't uncomfortable this time. "Th-thank you..."

"Don't mention it," she replied, but the warmth in her voice made it clear that she was happy I had. "Anyway, Pip, I have to run... my family's going out for dinner, and it's not the sort of thing I can weasel out of when my mom's involved. Call me any time, alright? But make up a different name than 'Annie,' because she does come around now and then."

"How 'bout 'Sara?'"

"Perfect." She laughed a little to let me know she was smiling. "I'll talk to you later, Pip."

"Alright... see you around. Well, not really, I guess..." She laughed again.

"Bye-bye. Take care."

_Click_.

I thought then that I could potentially fall in love with Wendy.

o o o

I'd found a health channel that was airing a taping of open-heart surgery and was immensely enjoying myself when Pip came back in, looking to be in much better spirits. I wasn't sure whether I should be relieved or suspicious, but decided that, after all, I was better at being suspicious.

"What are _you_ so cheery about?" He grinned at me, but it was patronizing, and it put a foul taste in my mouth.

"I called up an old friend of mine, who happens to be a lot better for my mental health than you are." I raised my eyebrows and gave him a doubtful look.

"I didn't think you _had_ any friends." I expected the comment to put a serious puncture in his mood, but it seemed to bounce right off him, because his expression never faltered.

"Well, I guess she's more of a close acquaintance," he corrected himself, glancing at the television to see what I was watching and giving it an approving smile. "But she's a sort of confidant of mine... it was on a tip of hers that I found you, as a matter of fact."

That unexpected announcement made my stomach twist up uncomfortably in my abdomen. "What...?"

"Her name's Wendy," he told me with an air on familiarity that I didn't like. If I hadn't known that he knew nothing about manipulating people's feelings, I would've thought he'd done it on purpose. "She's a schoolmate of mine... she has been for a long time. She met you, too, though I'm sure you don't remember her." I thought there was something taunting in his voice, but I was probably just imagining it.

"And she was helping you... track me down?" I asked in a weak voice that uncharacteristically betrayed emotion. The fact that Pip had been looking for me never really unnerved me; after what had gone down between us as kids, I understood why my memory might've rubbed him the wrong way. The fact that there had been _two_ of them, however, rearranged the entire situation. If there had been two of them – possibly more – working to _find me_... I'd become prey. I had only ever been the predator.

"You say it like we were hunting you," he laughed, but that's how I'd meant to say it. "She never really approved of the fact that I spent all my time obsessing over you, honestly... it was actually a sort of weekly ritual of hers to come make fun of me while I pored over phonebooks in the library. She listened to me when I talked about you, though, even if she didn't like it... so when she heard someone mention a 'Damien' at an arts festival in Middle Park she went to check it out for me. That's the trouble with breaking hearts under the same name, you know."

I was having trouble processing what he was saying. I couldn't quite comprehend the fact that it had been this strange girl – Wendy, not Pip – to finally locate me. "And you told her... everything over the phone tonight?"

"Well," he considered evenly, frowning a little. "I don't know where we are myself, so I couldn't really tell her _that_... but she knows that I'm with you, if that's what you mean."

"But—"

"Oh!" He smiled suddenly, a look of dawning in his eyes. "I guess she's the girl my bleeding heart would tell the truth to, huh?"

I punched him, because there was no pigtailed girl to do it for me this time.

"_Shit!_" he yelled from the floor, nose bleeding. "What was _that_ for?!"

"This is supposed to be between the two of us!" I shouted at him, emotions getting the better of me; I could feel my cheeks go red. "There can't be anyone else! Fuck... you never told me about this chick! _No one else can know about this!_ I can't put everything on the line for you if you've got strings attached to you I don't even know about!"

"What's the big deal?" he moaned up at me, pinching the bridge of his nose to slow the blood flow. "She already knows who you are... hell, she was _there_ when you fucked me up."

"What the fuck do I care?!" I yelled, uncomfortably hot. "This is more serious than some finger-pointing name game, alright? I'm in a position where I've had guns to my head, Pip, knives to my throat, and – pardon my French – it's a rather precarious fucking situation. I can handle that shit on my own because that's what I've been raised to do, but this chick knows that the two of us are together! That's too much information for anyone to have! Do you not get how easily someone could exploit that?"

"Wendy isn't going to _use_ me to get at you," Pip muttered coldly. I shook my head impatiently at him, still in a state of disbelief.

"It doesn't have to be Wendy; it doesn't even have to be someone who _hears_ it from Wendy. The _principle_ of the thing is what's important: someone else knows, someone who shouldn't." He was still staring icily up at me, so I rolled my eyes and tried a different approach. "Look, Pip... you're a serious weakness of mine right now, okay? I don't fear for my own life; I can take pretty much anything a mortal can dish out. You, on the other hand, are considerably more susceptible to death, and I don't want to have to expose my identity to save you from it." Pip's hard expression ebbed slowly away to be replaced with narrow-eyed bewilderment.

"Wendy's the only person... I would ever tell..."

"There can't be anyone else," I repeated, ignoring his promise. I looked down angrily, feeling like I'd been lied to somehow. The kid wasn't supposed to have anyone else... I didn't think he had anyone else... "You're putting _yourself_ in danger... and apparently _I'm_ the only one that's bothered by that." Pip still looked totally floored, and he seemed to be ignoring the blood that was dripping down his face and onto his shirt.

"You really—?"

"You're so clueless," I laughed humorlessly. "You can't even figure out for yourself that I only get so indignant over you because I _care_ about you, so I'll tell you this flat-out to save you the headache: there can't be any Wendy."

Pip looked like something out of a horror movie, covered in blood and staring up at me from the floor in horrified disbelief. "No... Damien, please, you don't understand! I swear to you, Wendy won't tell anyone... _I_ won't tell anyone! Damien, she's the closest thing I have to a friend... I wouldn't have told her unless I trusted her!"

"So why aren't you with _her_?" I asked, and I wasn't sure if I was being bitter or genuine. Pip didn't seem to know either, because he had a troubled expression on his face like he didn't know how to answer.

"I don't know," he finally replied in a strange voice. "I guess I should be. Maybe I should even have feelings for her. I mean, maybe I do... but Wendy's not... I mean, she's not someone I'd ever want to spend the whole day with. She's just... my reality check when the day's over." He looked down and took a swipe at his nose with the back of his hand. "Damien... if the only person I can talk to is you, I think I'll go crazy."

The statement was both very insulting and very true at the same time, and he looked so dejected sitting there all drenched in blood that I couldn't help feeling some mild degree of pity for him. "She... she has to be the only one, then." Pip's countenance brightened immediately.

"R-really?"

"Your trust in her had better be justified," I warned him, still resenting the fact that this girl existed. "The moment she becomes a threat to either of us, this little vacation of ours is over. I won't have any trouble leaving you."

"I thought you said you cared about me," he teased shyly, and my response came out in a voice more strangled than I would've liked.

"If I turn my back I can't see you get hurt."

He smiled embarrassedly at the floor then, and it was remarkable how pretty he managed to look with blood all over his mouth and chin. "I... Damien, could...?" He left his question unfinished, so I had no idea what he wanted, except that he reached his hand out timidly as though he were asking permission to touch me. Unable to be sure of this, however, and knowing that my answer would have been "no" if that had in fact been his question, I turned away from him and started towards the balcony to get some fresh air. Before I made it to the door, however, he leapt up off the ground and stumbled over to me, grabbing me from behind. I could feel his rapid heartbeat and the blood on the front of his shirt seeping into the back of mine. His hands latched together about my chest and I wondered self-consciously if he could feel my heartbeat as well.

"Pip—"

"When you can finally trust me," he breathed into my neck, sending shivers down my spine, "I won't need anyone else." I laughed at the sheer absurdity of the situation.

"You've got some nerve telling me you're not gay."

"I never said anything of the sort." I wasn't sure whether or not he was joking, but I decided that either way it warranted a laugh, so I did.

"At least you've got good taste."

"Incredible."


	9. Sexual Tension

**Chapter Nine — Sexual Tension**

Until then, I had never thought anything of my sexuality. As an elementary school boy I'd been called such affectionate nicknames as "pillow-biter" and "ass-blaster" more often than my actual name, grown accustomed to Valentine's Day meaning a decorated shoe box full of crudely drawn cartoons of, well, me getting my ass blasted, and been informed giddily by Cartman and his friends at _least_ once a week that they'd sell me to the gay bar outside of town for twenty bucks if they didn't know I'd like it. This said, it took a lot to actually make me uncomfortable about my sexuality. Most boys my age wouldn't have worn their hair down to their shoulders like mine (as it was never anything like the tangled mane a few of the heavy-metal kids sported) or openly admitted that the Backstreet Boys _did_ have a few good songs in their repertoire (which they did, though no god-fearing male would said it out loud), and for them it was the most offensive insult imaginable to have it insinuated that they took it up the ass. For me... well, what harm could be done as a teenager by a word that hadn't hurt me as a child?

I never considered the fact that maybe these insinuations, which had started out as mere childish taunting, had evolved into genuine doubt. Because I was not afraid of the word, I had complete liberty from the stereotypes of heterosexual males. In _my_ mind, there was never any doubt that I was sexually interested in girls, and since the teasing began long before puberty awakened this interest, I assumed – perhaps stupidly – that the boys who mocked me with pretend hard-ons in the school locker room were every bit as sure of this preference as I was. It never occurred to me that what I perceived as confidence was perceived by others as confession.

When Damien teased me, I hadn't thought that he genuinely believed I was attracted to males, and _much _less attracted to him. I thought he was just being an asshole. But when I grabbed him from behind I felt his heart speed up with a sudden surge of adrenaline that made his entire body tremor the moment my breath hit his skin. Maybe he really did think I was in love with him.

That said, it was probably not a good idea to make a joke about it even as I had my arms around him.

We pulled the whole thing off rather nonchalantly – impressively so, if you ask me. I released my grip on him while he was still laughing to avoid any additional awkwardness, he took a few moments to calm down then excused himself to the bathroom, and when he came back I was flipping through TV stations, asking casually whether he'd rather watch a documentary on prostitution or _Plastic Surgery Gone Wrong_. After much (_much_) debate, he decided on _Plastic Surgery Gone Wrong_. It was a good choice.

If I hadn't been more perceptive or more paranoid, I probably would've believed that everything was fine, that my impulsive little outburst of emotion hadn't alarmed or upset him; his face was indifferent and his posture didn't betray any stiffness or unease. Every so often, however, I would feel his eyes on me, so briefly that by the time I glanced his way he was staring at the television again... but for a few moments his face would give away a hint of something other than total indifference... something pensive, and almost sad... something that told me, if only for a few seconds, that my behavior had affected him more than he was letting on.

They were airing their fourth victim of medical malpractice when Damien's sporadic glances had finally driven me crazy. I felt like I had to clear the air or I would just explode from the tension.

"In case it's bothering you, I _was_ joking earlier."

Damien lifted his head and looked over at me with mild surprise, not at the statement itself, but at the fact that I had made it at all. "It doesn't really matter to me one way or the other," he said gently, as though giving me permission to drop the charade. "If you like guys, that's fine."

"I was joking about liking _you_, then," I clarified, to which he nodded absently without looking at me.

"Oh... yeah, I figured that. I was joking, too."

I frowned at him, because something about the way he said it was unsettling to me. "_Were_ you...?"

Damien's eyes flickered instantly to me, skeptical and a little abashed. "_Yeah_," he replied emphatically, as though he was talking to someone who was only just learning to speak English.

"You don't have to cough an attitude at me," I remarked defensively. "You just sounded... sort of disappointed."

"Disappointed?" he laughed, and there was something obnoxiously patronizing about it. "Trust me, Pip, I get enough without you. Okay?" Taken slightly off-guard, I closed my eyes for a moment to process what he'd just said. When I opened them back up I was staring at him so awkwardly that he laughed again. "What?"

"Sorry, I... can never tell when you're joking," I admitted, and a strange expression flashed across his face – an expression very much like the one that had been driving me crazy while we watched TV. But then it was over and he was smiling, making me wonder if I'd just imagined the whole thing.

"No," he said in his usual voice that betrayed nothing of what he was thinking. "I'm not joking. I've got my share of bad habits, too."

I felt as though I'd just swallowed a spoonful of something very bitter. I'd assumed... I mean, with his looks, and his ability to reel in women... but he'd never actually mentioned anything about his past, and somehow it came as something of a blow to hear him confirm my barely-contemplated suspicion out loud. "So... you..."

"Wold you expect anything better from me?" he asked, his smile now hinting at a sort of guilt. "Honestly?"

"I don't know," I answered, thoroughly embarrassed. Thinking about it was getting me flustered. I tried to keep my eyes on the television. "I don't really... I mean, I guess if you were a normal high schooler I wouldn't think anything of it..."

"But?" Damien supplied, eyebrows raised. I grinned meekly.

"But you're not. You're..." Did I dare to say _my friend_? I thought better of it and started over. "I mean, you really went off at me about Wendy, and we... I mean, the two of us _never_..."

Damien laughed, giving me permission to stop explaining. "It's alright, I see where you're coming from." Except he didn't, because I hadn't said what I meant to. "But we're two very different people. You're..." He paused to – I assume – figure out how to phrase what exactly I was in the least offensive manner possible. "You're too compassionate for your own good, really, and unimaginably awkward on top of that." _A_ for effort, I guess. "The girls you attract will always be kind and quiet and inclined to trust you... and I don't think you would know how – or want – to turn them away. The girls that... are drawn to _me_..." He broke off for a moment, and I couldn't help but glance at him. He looked utterly lost inside his own consciousness. "They're not like that at all."

"But you draw in _everyone_," I blurted out stupidly. Damien looked over at me and I blushed without knowing why.

"The girls that stay," he corrected himself before looking away again. "Girls like Sara—" and he said the name with bitterness that surprised me "—are intimidated by me... because I'm not challenged by them the way most guys are. I _know_ what to say and I _know_ what to do. That freaks the hell out of them. The girls who _don't_ run off are the ones who are used to all the bullshit I dish out... the girls who are used to guys who lie to them and don't care one way or the other. I hate to sound heartless, especially to you, but... I don't feel anything for girls like that. It's just a mutual comfort."

I hated hearing him say it; I _hated_ it. I'd like to say that it bothered me because I respected him and would have thought him above something as petty as that, but the truth is that I didn't respect him at all. It bothered me because I was being given less of him than was given the girls he felt nothing beyond attraction for. When it came right down to it, I was jealous. It was jealousy that made me ask, almost accusingly, "Did you ever take them... on the road?"

"Like you?" Christ, he didn't fuck around.

"Yeah. Like me."

"Never." Completely abandoning the pretense of watching TV, he rolled over onto his back and closed his eyes, stretching his arms up into the air. "Are you afraid I'm using you, too?"

"Not for sex," I answered shortly, almost tempted to turn off the television because it wasn't really anything more than a distraction now. "But you can keep someone company without fucking them."

"Heh." It was a clipped little laugh devoid of any actual humor. "I guess it scares you too, then."

"What?" He breathed out and crossed his arms behind his head.

"The knowledge that I'm better at lying than telling the truth."

Yeah. That did scare me. It scared me more than anything ever had, because the only time he dropped his perfectly collected little act was when he was yelling at me or swearing at me or otherwise being completely distraught over my existence. The only time I knew he was telling the truth was when he was telling me things I didn't want to hear. "It does," I replied honestly. "But I don't really have any choice but to believe what you tell me."

"Compromising position," he noted, and I silently agreed. "I... look, I know that this statement has no merit, but... I don't lie to you, Pip."

I smiled gently and pushed myself up onto my knees, reaching for the remote and finally flipping off the TV. At the sudden silence Damien lifted his head and glanced over, but by that time I had already moved off of my bed and over to his, crawling up by the headboard at his feet. He looked up at me like I was insane. "As long as I believe that, would you like to tell me more about your past?"

"Not particularly." His incredulous expression was fading into that amicable, don't-try-and-tell-me-you're-not-gay one. "But if you ask I'll answer."

We sat like that for a long time, me asking trivial questions whose answers weren't as important to me as receiving them was, he replying as thoroughly as he could with respect to the slight handicap on his part of remembering next to nothing about his early childhood. He had been raised by a subordinate of his father's who worked as a sort of surrogate mother, he told me, but he couldn't remember her name or at what age he had left her. This woman (though I was disinclined to think of her as such) lived much as Damien did now, though she occupied houses instead of hotel rooms and traveled, not at random, but on the orders of her master. Damien mused that he must have learned to drive during these years with her, because he'd always used automobiles as his means of transportation, but he couldn't remember her teaching him and he couldn't imagine anyone else taking the time to do so.

"Have you really been driving for so long that you can't remember when you learned?" I asked, slightly stunned. Officers pulled _me_ over when I drove my parents' car thinking I was too young; I couldn't believe that some prepubescent kid could get away with something like that.

"It probably hasn't been more than a few years," he guessed, scratching the back of his head. "But it's impossible to have any conception of time when you're always moving and the seasons never seem to abide by the laws of nature." Especially if you're fond of places like Park County, I thought. "Honestly, I wouldn't know my own age if my dad didn't come up every year to wish me a happy birthday... and sometimes I still forget."

"That's pathetic," I said unabashedly, and he laughed. "Don't you have _any_ real memories?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... something more than just the _knowledge_ that something happened. Aren't there moments engraved in your mind so deeply that you can still remember how you were _sitting_ and what you were _thinking_ and how the _room_ smelled...? Something you can relive when you close your eyes?" I knew that I'd always had a particularly strong memory, but it still seemed impossible to me that anyone could lack the ability to retain even _one_ moment of their past, perfectly preserved.

A long silence followed in which Damien squinted his eyes as if trying to recall any fragments of memories he still possessed. "I... remember the incident with you, now."

"Isn't there anything else?"

"Glimpses of things." Even with his eyes closed, concentration was evident on his face. "Rooms I've lived in... girls I've fucked... some of the more gruesome corpses... I must have memories of more than that if I could eventually remember _you_, but I can't access them on my own. The demons in hell are created with limited intelligence, a sort of precaution to keep them from challenging authority or the tasks given to them... I'm probably the same way."

"That's... awful," I thought aloud, frowning. Damien opened his eyes and looked at me pensively.

"Not really. I mean, think about the livestock on earth. Isn't it better that they never know what they're being raised for? To live knowing your only value is a couple bucks per pound... what kind of life is that? Musicians and chicks are always going on about 'the meaning of life,' but I doubt anyone would really want to know. You think suicide rates are bad _now_..." I couldn't help but laugh in admiration.

"If anyone ever tried to limit your ability to question existence, I think they failed spectacularly."

"I _don't_ question existence," he argued good-naturedly. "I'm perfectly alright with my life." I raised an eyebrow.

"You're perfectly alright with being a cynical, amoral womanizer?" He beamed up at me.

"Hell yeah."

"How many girls _have _you been with, Damien?"

It was so rare to see him look embarrassed that I absolutely relished in the expression. He glanced sideways at nothing in particular and shrugged in a way that didn't exactly pass for casual. "A... a few..."

"More than ten?"

"I... yeah..."

"More than twenty?"

"I don't—"

"Less than a hundred, though, right?"

"_Yes_," he groaned desperately. He looked so harassed that I couldn't help smiling at him. When he noticed that I was taking pleasure in his discomfort he shot me a sullen glare. I nudged him with my foot and snickered.

"Don't be like that," I laughed. He looked so annoyed that I thought he might bite my foot off. "Any other guy would be _proud_ of numbers like that."

His expression shifted slightly. "You don't have a problem with it, then?"

"Of course I do. I think it's disgusting."

Damien promptly kicked me into the headboard. It hurt, but I couldn't stop laughing.

"Please," he said brusquely. "Like you're some perfect model of chastity yourself." I huffed in mock indignation.

"I most certainly am!" Damien frowned.

"You've _never_ fucked a girl? Or a guy, whatever, I won't judge you," he added as an afterthought.

"Never," I answered cheerfully. "Though I got to second base with Cartman once." Damien kicked me into the headboard again, but it wasn't playful this time.

"Don't... don't joke about that," he begged me, sounding sick. "I can't stand it."

"Who said I was joking?"

"Stop." His features were screwed up in disgust. "Just stop."

I frowned a little at him. He usually had a better sense of humor than this. "What's your hangup with Cartman?"

"The guy's total fucking scum. It's bad enough having to picture you in _any_ sexual situation, but picturing you with him makes me want to throw up." He gave a little shudder to emphasize his point. I just raised my eyebrows, thoroughly unconvinced.

"Damien, can you even _remember_ the guy? Aside from maybe those two seconds in which he told you that you were basically a god on earth for so thoroughly humiliating me, I mean."

"Not really," he admitted slowly. "But his existence in my subconscious is _way_ fucking scarier than I'll ever be." I cocked my head to the side for a few moments, contemplating this statement, before falling back against the headboard in a fit of raucous laughter. I could feel Damien start a little at my feet, and quickly afterwards he demanded, sounding flustered, "What?"

"You're _jealous_ of him!" I laughed out, covering my face with my hands to smother the noise that even I could recognize as annoying. "Your subconscious still remembers him humiliating you, and you're jealous that some punk kid from South Park could be badder than the son of Satan. So of course it would piss you off if I really was attracted to Cartman, wouldn't it? Because if I'm into bad guys I should be into you!" I glanced through the slits in my fingers to see Damien staring open-mouthed at me.

"What the _fuck_ are you talking about?"

"I'm so dead on, aren't I?"

"Not even close!" he argued, shaking his head in disbelief. "Look, we've talked ourselves back in a complete circle; I've already _told_ you that in _no way _do I need your affection."

"You're such a liar!"

"If anything, I'd prefer you _weren't_ attracted to me, because then I wouldn't have to dead with sexual advances from a creepy little shemale like you."

"_That_ much may be true," I granted him, kicking him a little with my foot for the shemale comment. "But I still think that a part of you only _really_ hopes I'm not gay because it means you won't get burned if I don't fall for you like everyone else on the planet."

"You certainly think a lot of yourself, Pip." He almost snarled the words out, but it was less angry than irritated. Of course, he probably had every right to be irritated; I was enjoying the fact that I'd exposed a weakness of his, more so because it involved myself.

"I've got to," I replied brightly. "No one else does."

"Maybe there's a _reason_ for that," he replied darkly, but his lips twisted into the slightest little smile as he said it. "Look, maybe if you go back to your side of the room and flip on the TV I'll forget all about this conversation, alright?"

_**You're**__ the one who's embarrassed_, I thought fairly, but I figured that I'd provoked him enough for one night and let him have his way. I held up my hands in some motion of surrender before heaving myself up off his bed and jumping into mine. The comforter seemed cold in comparison to the one on Damien's bed.

I flipped the TV back on and it was like the conversation had never happened. It was like _nothing_ had happened. How could I not be scared when I was tumbling into the screenplay of such a perfect actor?

o o o

I couldn't _believe_ that he would think I — _**shit**_. Honestly... the _last_ thing in the world I wanted was for Pip – of all people – to become one of those fawning, sniveling whores who begged for my attention with too-tight clothes that made me want to puke. I didn't _really_ care one way or the other as far as his sexuality went... but either way, I _didn't_ want him looking at me like that. I tried – to the best of my ability – not to lie to Pip. I _hadn't_ ever taken anyone else with me like this, and I _wasn't_ just keeping him around for my own amusement. He wasn't like those stupid, pathetic girls, and for him to even _insinuate_ that I _wanted_ him to be...

Maybe I should have told him that instead of cutting the conversation short in favor of the last ten minutes of our show just to save some awkwardness. Somehow, though... for me to vocalize these thoughts aloud was near impossible, not just to Pip, but to myself... probably because that monstrous personage that existed behind glass was still me, still a deep-rooted part of me that despised myself for being so soft, for being so weak as to care for someone... especially someone like Pip, who embodied everything a good church-going boy should be. But that's what I liked about him.

Most humans don't understand the way a demon's mind works. They can't understand why the humans sinful enough to make it into hell are tortured there. Shouldn't demons – shouldn't Satan himself – have compassion for those most like them? Never. Would your typical trailer trash fucker turn down, say, a Victoria's Secret model just because she's a little hotter than him? Of course not. The unattractive are still appalled by the unattractive, and, likewise, the corrupt are still appalled by the corrupt. In the years recent enough for me to remember, I had never killed anyone for being too _chaste_. I killed people whose most repulsive sins reminded me of my own – people who _deserved_ hell.

A devil is never compassionate. He wants others to suffer as he does.

Maybe I should have told Pip that, too.

The guy seemed opposite enough of me. Was he telling the truth about being a virgin? I wasn't sure. He'd caught me at it before, but I couldn't stop shooting those curious glances at him as we pretended to be interested in a show that any other boy our age would have been completely captivated by. Pip was easier to read than I was, but that didn't make him easy to read. I could imagine him as the kind of guy who would _want_ to wait until marriage – or whatever bullshit Christians believed in – but he certainly _wasn't_ unattractive... surely he had been approached by girls before. Would he have had the _backbone_ to say no to every one of them? I couldn't believe that. And, to be honest, there was still a small part of me that believed he had fucked around with Cartman.

Why... _why_ would I remember him like that if he wasn't? I didn't know why Pip couldn't just accept the fact that I was repulsed by the guy. I was – more than anything. Even the eight-year-old face my memory had been keeping tucked away creeped the hell out of me. Something... something horrible _had_ to have happened; nightmares weren't a common occurrence with me. There was something _wrong_ with that Cartman kid, something horribly, hideously wrong, something that made me uneasier than my father and his demon fuck-buddies ever had. Pip wasn't telling me something, and it bothered me not knowing what that something was.

I'd slept less than two hours the previous night, and I fell asleep upside-down on my bed before the show had even ended. If only to spite my consciousness, Cartman visited me in my dreams, but he didn't fuck Pip this time.

He fucked me instead, while Pip sat several feet away with a scarlet blindfold over his eyes.


	10. Fighting Fire

**Chapter Ten — Fighting Fire**

It felt unnatural to me, how routine and utterly mundane dawn was. I woke up with a jaw-popping yawn and Damien was tossing a towel at me from the bathroom, informing me that he'd only be a few minutes; his expression was the mild, 9-to-5 face of my father, the face of someone who had been saying the same words and making the same motions for so many years it was like second nature... but Damien had not been waking up to my snores for years. He pulled the act off perfectly, but I wasn't stupid. As bad as his memory was, I knew that he hadn't forgotten our conversation last night... I knew he was only acting this casually because acting any other way might – God forbid – spark an unwanted followup conversation.

Or maybe I didn't know anything.

The water slowed to a stop and Damien stepped out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around thinner hips than I would've expected. He caught me staring and raised his eyebrows. "What?" It sounded so purely bemused that I wondered if there really _wasn't_ any subtext to the question.

"You're so skinny," I commented wonderingly, choosing to ignore my alternate train of thought.

"Oh, Pip!" he exclaimed, clasping his hands together and batting his eyes at me. "You _know_ if you keep flattering me like this it'll go to my head!"

"It wasn't a compliment." True story. "Unless you're purposely going for the starving, anorexic girl look."

"It's all the rage in Teen People."

"Seriously: do you _eat_?"

"Think I'd die otherwise."

"I didn't think it 'worked like that' with you."

"Well, you know, I figured the bathroom trips might have been some sort of tip-off. I don't shit just for the thrill of it, though I won't begrudge you any such obsession."

Stupid idiot with his stupid idiotic banter. It reminded me ruefully of the way I'd always tried to squirm out of undesirable conversation topics with Wendy. I'd thought it was subtle then, but apparently I was wrong. At the moment, it seemed glaringly obvious that he was tip-toeing (well, stomping, really) around his discomfort zone using crude shock value as a sort of distraction. Whatever. If he was too immature to deal with the fact that maybe he needed my affection, I could humor him.

"Go on and take your shower," he urged, wisely dropping the subject of his bowel movements at my massive eye-roll. "I need to get dressed, and if you cream your pants when I let the towel drop I'm _not_ letting you borrow mine."

The comment took me by surprise. He _wasn't_ trying to steer our conversation clear of my feelings (or lack thereof, as the case ironically was) for him. He was perfectly content to joke about it the way he always did. Nothing... _had_ changed. Maybe he really _was_ being genuinely casual. "Do I smell bad or something?"

"Bad enough that I'd be embarrassed to take you out in public. You've been complaining about that outfit I picked up for you ever since I brought it back, and I think it's worth the trouble to buy you something else if it'll shut you up. Seriously, though." He made a gesture down at his towel and then another one that threatened to rip the towel right off if I didn't hurry.

I hurried.

o o o

I had learned a few things from the girls I hated, and one was this: purposely avoiding any subject of conversation was an absolutely surefire way to end up talking about it. I didn't want to talk to Pip; I didn't want to _look_ at Pip; the last thing in hell I wanted was to make casual jokes about a sexuality that scared the living shit out of me.

I didn't want to think about Cartman fucking him into the dirty grass. I didn't want to think about Cartman fucking him into his own dirty _bed_. More than that, though, I didn't want Pip knowing that such a thought bothered me.

Because I didn't really understand why it did.

"Done," he announced from behind me, stepping out of the bathroom almost fully dressed, towel lying haphazardly over his hair. It struck me as funny that maybe he didn't trust _me_ enough to get changed outside. "Does this place have a hair dryer?"

"I'm not waiting for you to dry your hair," I answered in place of telling him that there was a hair dryer under the sink. "It'll be fine, it's not that cold outside."

"No, it's not that. I just can't wear my hat over wet hair; it'll stretch the wool."

"So we'll buy you another one."

"But..." He made a quiet protesting noise in his throat and looked down awkwardly at his feet. I shot an incredulous look at him, which he seemed to feel rather than see, and coaxed him into eventually surrendering, "Alright."

"If it's too precious for you to ruin, I understand," I teased with a lecherous grin that I didn't mean at all. I wanted things to be like they were two days ago; I wanted his answer to mean nothing. Now, he could either deny it and be lying, which would mean our whole conversation last night was an awkward way of coming out to me, or deny it and be telling the _truth_, which would mean our whole conversation last night had been an elaborate ruse to get me to confess that I'd _wanted_ him to come out to me (and probably on to me). If he didn't deny it at all, I had no clue what to think.

"Fuck off," he laughed, reaching out to backhand my shoulder. That seemed acceptable enough a response. "As someone with absolutely no shadow of a soul, I fully realize that you are incapable of understanding this, but it makes me feel a little _bad_ every time we rip off a store."

"It's a rich country. The economy will bounce right back."

"Yes, I suppose that's the attitude of every petty criminal."

"_Please_, Pip. Petty? I am the grand master of all criminals." Pip laughed a little and tugged his hat over his wet hair with less remorse than I would've liked.

"Guess you are."

We walked together down through the hotel, making more stupid small talk; I don't think I was even listening to myself. That was one of my favorite qualities, really: the ability to chat people up without actually thinking at all. At least not about what I was saying. When I was picking up chicks, I had much more exciting things to imagine than what her favorite outlet store was. Every now and then, as we passed through the halls, Pip would start at the sound of a door opening. I assumed he was afraid that his little girlfriend would pop out from behind one, demanding to see... what did I name Pip's imaginary boy toy... Mark? I pretended to find it all very funny. On some level, it was.

But every time I looked at him, images flashed through my head of him watching me sightlessly through that crimson blindfold while Cartman—

_Forget it_, I chastised myself, making a big show of picking out a car to annoy Pip, because that seemed very in character of me. _He said nothing happened between the two of them_. _He's not the kind of guy to lie_. We climbed into the car, Pip mumbling something about me being an ass... I don't know; I wasn't really paying attention. _Just forget it_. _You've been cool all morning_. _You can keep doing this_.

"Are you _sure_ you and Cartman have never screwed around?"

I swear, the words came out of my mouth of their own volition. Pip stared for a moment, pursed lips threatening to break into a smile, then decided he couldn't hold it in anymore and collapsed over my shoulders, snickering like an idiot.

"_What?_"

"I _knew_ you hadn't just forgotten about it!" he said triumphantly, pulling away to jab a finger in my face. I knocked him back a little over-enthusiastically, slamming his entire body into the side of his seat with a muffled _THUMP_. He didn't seem at all perturbed, because his grin never flickered. "I thought I'd be the one to crack and bring it back up!"

"I'm not bringing anything back up," I informed him cooly. "I'm just asking you a question."

"You are _so_ hung up on Cartman!"

_Yeah, maybe_._ But that might have something to do with the fact that I can't sit down right now without experiencing phantom pain_. "Just answer the question."

"No, I've never done anything with Cartman!" he laughed, looking absolutely beside himself with glee. "I don't have any idea why you seem to think otherwise."

"Psychic."

"Oh really?" He smiled teasingly at me. "I guess the secret's out, then."

"I'm serious!"

Pip gave me a funny look that made me cringe a little. "You were worked up last night, too. This is about more than whether or not I'm gay, right? It's really about Cartman?" He frowned a little. "I know your pride might have trouble accepting this, but don't you think that _maybe_ you are a _little_ jealous?"

I made an indignant noise and put my hands to my head, grimacing. "What would I be _jealous_ of, Pip?" I was too busy shaking my head at the floor of the car to catch his facial reaction.

"The fact that, assuming Cartman and I _were_ playing pelvic pinochle—" I reminded myself to kill him later for that choice of words "—he could get me interested and you can't! You've got such a big ego that I can't believe you _wouldn't_ feel that way!"

"You didn't convince me of this last night—"

"—and I'm not going to convince you now. Got it." He shot me a look that was lingering somewhere between sullen and self-righteous. "But you refuse to tell me what it is that has you stuck on Cartman, so I've only got my intuition to go on. You wanna give me something more: go ahead." I growled a little and glared up at him. He reflected the expression faultlessly.

"It's none of your business why I'm stuck on Cartman!"

"It's my business when you're asking me whether or not I'm _sleeping_ with him, I'd think!" That was, at most, 50 true. It certainly wasn't his business that every time I took a shit today I'd be thinking of that asshole. I threw him a bone anyway.

"I told you three days ago that our whole... thing—" I couldn't think of a better word for it "—came back to me in my sleep, right? Well maybe some other shit 'came back' to me, too. If my subconscious thinks it's true, it probably is." I wanted to add, _and the fact that you're getting so defensive lends credit to the theory_, but I was slightly less stupid than that. His punch was harder than I'd originally suspected.

Pip laughed incredulously. "Right, because we were the best of friends, you and I, and boy was it awkward that one night when you barged into my room without knocking to find me on my knees in front of Cartman!" That sent a wave of nausea through my stomach, but I tried to keep it from showing on my face. "We never spoke to each other after the third grade, you dolt. How could you possibly remember anything about my past?"

"I've been up to Park County a lot, even you noticed that," I pointed out, fumbling for the key in my pocket and realizing with some degree of horror that my hands were shaking. "So who says I didn't... I don't know... notice two fags going at it in the back of a movie theater or something?" Okay, that was intelligent... now I was making myself sick. Fuck. Why _did_ I bring this back up?

Because the taken aback look in his eyes was giving me the impression that he _did_ have something to hide, and that... _that_ made me sicker. "W-well... we've never gone at it in the back of a movie theater, so I can pretty much guarantee you that's not it..."

Smirking with a trace amount of actual satisfaction at having finally cornered him, I reached out to put the back of my hand against Pip's cheek; he jumped straight back and hit the window with the back of his head. He cursed out loud and winced in pain, giving me a rude hand gesture beneath the seat. "You're burning up," I commented smoothly, still smiling. Pip looked like he was about to have a heart attack... it was really kind of cute, the way he was pressed up against the door with his feet on the car seat and his knees up against his chest as if he could actually melt through the metal if he only tried hard enough. "And that stutter's a little incriminating."

"We haven't fucked!" he burst out angrily, face redder than ever. I licked my lips and turned the ignition. My hands were still shaking, but not so badly. I shifted into reverse and backed the car out of its parking space.

"Alright," I replied, satisfied for now. I could almost feel his surprise at the simple response. "That's all I was asking." I could see the wary disbelief on his face in the rearview mirror.

"That's... that's all..."

"That's all," I repeated, smiling horribly. "You should probably unglue yourself from the door and put on your seatbelt, because we're taking the highway." Pip was still motionless for about ten more seconds.

"I still... I still think you should drop it."

_I honestly couldn't care less what you think_, I thought bitterly. _I just got fucked up the ass by my own subconscious, and I'm pretty damn sure it's your fault_.

"Alright."

o o o

He had been lying when he said it was alright. He made it abundantly clear to me the moment we stepped into the shopping mall that he had absolutely no intention of dropping the subject. Maybe he'd been silent during the ride over to lull me into a false sense of security until we had reached our destination – and couldn't pull over once I started screaming – or maybe it was just more entertaining to humiliate me in front of a crowd. (Actually, I was guessing it was a combination of the two.) He was taking great pleasure in guessing aloud where and what he'd caught me and Cartman doing as we passed through the mall. The food court had provided a few potentials, all mind-numbingly obvious (though he'd come up with a pretty inventive one when we walked by an Orange Julius), but now that we were settled in the mens department of JCPenney's, Damien was moving on to more lurid possibilities.

"Hand job behind a sales rack," he stated with a smile as he pulled apart a cluster of half-priced jeans and gestured to the empty space behind it.

"No," I replied shortly, thumbing through the sizes of the jeans Damien had just pushed in my direction. 28x32. I pulled the hopeful pair off the rack.

"Grope in the back room," he guessed again, gazing across the store to the shoe department next to us where a short man with several boxes towering at least ten inches over his head was making his way out of the storeroom.

"Damien, I'm going to try these on," I told him as if he would care, throwing the pants over my shoulder and heading off towards the dressing room. "Try and behave yourself."

"Sloppy makeout beneath an empty register." I ignored him and continued to the dressing room.

The dressing room was one of those uncomfortable affairs where all the doors have been equipped with wooden shutters placed backwards so that you can see into the stall from the outside but absolutely nothing at all from the inside. They were also lacking locks, fitted instead with a little magnet that gently encouraged the door to stay closed while you modeled your underwear for anyone who happened to be walking by the stall. Well, c'est la vie. It's not like I had much pride to protect anyway.

I'd situated myself in the booth farthest from the door (it had a tri-fold mirror that, even if missing a pane, made it the nicest in the room) and was in the middle of pulling the jeans up over my ass when Damien's voice announced itself behind me.

"Quickie in the dressing room." I sighed and turned around to find him playing with the door's magnetic lock. There couldn't have been anyone else in the room or he would've worried about how gay this must have looked.

"You're getting on my nerves." He stopped fidgeting with the door for a moment and shot me a smile.

"Only because you're on mine and I need to level out the playing field."

"I'm trying on jeans," I commented dully, knowing that reasoning with him was probably about as effective as banging my head against a wall.

"Yes, I can see that." He shot a glance at my butt in the mirror and waggled his eyebrows. "_Love_ the underwear, by the way. I've always been a Broncos fan."

"You know," I started, matching his leering expression with a poisonously sugary one, "if you really don't want me under the impression that you're only trying to corner me into admitting my interest in guys so that you can take a swing at me yourself, you might reconsider the commenting-on-my-ass-to-get-me-flustered route." Damien's smile grew wider in appreciation.

"And if you don't want me under the impression that you're _used_ to having guys commenting on your ass, you might reconsider the I'm-not-flustered-at-all route." I couldn't decide whether I was more annoyed or amused. He stepped into the changing stall and closed the door behind him, and I quickly finished pulling on and zipping up my pants. Damien laughed.

"You afraid I'm going to have a go at you?"

"Terribly. Also, I feel uncomfortable half-naked in a room with another guy, but the first one is better." He didn't seem uncomfortable at all, however. It reminded me a bit of his demeanor in the Middle Park office. This was clearly inappropriate territory; the only thing I could think of as any worse was a bathroom stall, and I questioned whether he wouldn't still be smirking even in a place like that. (If the smell didn't get to him first, anyway.) I wondered absently if anyone was watching the surveillance cameras in the changing room right now, and – if they were – whether or not they were having a good laugh at this.

"Don't underestimate me." He was still smiling, but there was a note of challenge in his voice now.

I wasn't entirely sure what I was underestimating here. "Sorry. Should I be buckling up a chastity belt, too?"

Too abruptly to be funny, Damien closed the distance between us with one long stride, pushed me against the broken third of the mirror, and leaned in unbearably close. Any and all humor left in the air vanished immediately; if there _were_ any security personnel monitoring the room, now would be an ideal time for them to come charging into the room with a can of mace. My stomach found itself twisted up in knots, and I wanted to ask him what he was doing, but I figured he would explain himself before I could jump to the conclusion that maybe my chastity belt comment wasn't as ironic as I'd intended it. "I _am_ going to figure out what you did with Cartman," he whispered ferally in what I hoped was the start of some sort of explanation. "It's really just a matter of when, and how much we each have to suffer until then." I blinked stupidly.

"How much _we_ have to...? What are _you_ s—?"

"I told you," he cut me off, breath hot on my face. Ugh. Toothpaste. We needed toothpaste. "It's none of your business."

"But... it'll be my business if you end up raping me in the dressing room?"

He couldn't do it. He just couldn't pull it off. We both knew how uncomfortable I was with close physical proximity, and he'd been going about squeezing information out of me absolutely perfectly if his plan was to flat-out scare me into a confession... but the thought of us actually rutting up against the wall of the changing room was just too much for him to bear, and he burst out in strangled laughter. Slumped against me in a fit of hysteria, he was still managing to make me highly uncomfortable, but not in any way that was beneficial to him. "You're so stupid," he choked out, ribs shaking. "God, you ruin everything."

"Sorry," I apologized, carefully sliding myself out from under him while he rode out wave after wave of laughter. "All those homoerotic fantasies of mine got the better of me for a moment." He decided that this rebuttal was worth another five minutes of laughter, so I left him to his side-splitting and ventured into another stall to change back into my old pants. The jeans fit well enough to buy... well enough that I wasn't willing to put myself through the hassle of trying on another pair, anyway.

You know. Homoerotic fantasies and all.

He found me about five minutes later as the cashier was ringing up the jeans, still choking on the occasional chuckle. "I already voiced my guess on the make-out beneath the register," he said with a lopsided smirk, and the cashier ignored him admirably. "But I _will_ figure it out."

"Good luck," I replied with a biting smile, taking my bag and my receipt and handing the credit card back to Damien. "You can guess forever, but nothing that has ever happened between us happened in a shopping mall."

I walked off and he all but ran after me.


	11. The Barter System

**Chapter Eleven – The Barter System**

"Woah, woah, _woah_!"

A normal person might have taken that as a cue to _hold on_ or _slow down_ or perhaps to _stop this goddamn second and explain to me what the hell just happened_. Pip, however, seemed to miss all implications of the expression, because he kept right on walking without so much as a glance backwards. "I said _wait_, you idiot!" But even that was too subtle. He bristled a little, but otherwise kept right on forward and out the door – all for dramatic effect, I might add, because we'd parked on the opposite side of the building. To his credit, though, the howling wind did lend something to the dangerous posture he was assuming. When I did finally catch up to him (knocking over some woman's stroller in my haste, which probably bothered _him_ more than it bothered me) he shot me a sideways glance that screamed murder. I shot it back because he was walking unnecessarily fast, but not fast enough that the woman with the stroller couldn't catch up with a little running.

"Do you have a problem?" he asked in a would-be calm voice.

"I'd think that much would be obvious as I've probably given some kid head trauma in the effort of catching up to you." The resulting backwards, guilt-wracked glance was so very worth it. "You're not allowed to tell someone that they're _right_ about something like that – in _public_, by the way – and then walk off like nothing happened."

"Because nothing is _exactly_ what happened. I never said you were right," he countered, speeding up even more; I wondered if he even remembered where the car was parked. "A normal human being – of whom you would apparently know nothing about – is probably not going to confess their secret sex life to an abhorrently _abnormal_ human being after being harassed by the aforementioned in a shopping mall for an _hour straight_."

"Hey, babe, that's why I'm curious."

"No; you're an idiot." He looked like he might stop for a moment, then decided against it. He definitely had no clue where he was going. "My entire life is apparently one big joke to you; if I _did_ confess to some torrid love affair with Cartman – hell, if I said he'd raped me in the boys bathroom with a giant cactus – I'm sure you'd react with all the sympathy of a three-legged pit bull. That does not, as you might imagine, really thrill me. Does it not occur to you that maybe I just wanted to yank your chain a little?"

"If that were true," I commented with a sneering smile, "you'd look a lot more smug than this." Pip exhaled loudly out of his nose.

"Damien... I am so frustrated right now that you wouldn't be able to tell looking at me if I was having a fucking _orgasm_."

"I'm pretty sure those two are mutually exclusive conditions."

"Well then, if it's any comfort to your rationale, I can tell you that I am _not_ having an orgasm right now." He finally paused, defeated, and turned around to me. "Where the hell are we parked?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Yes, I would," he replied, glaring. "And you'd like to tell me, too, because the longer we stand in this parking lot, the greater the chance of me pummeling you in the face." I laughed.

"I'm so terrified my testicles have retreated."

"Fine." He crossed his arms and stared me down with an eerie sort of determination. "Then I'll stand here and grope you until everyone in the parking lot sees."

I shot him an appropriately doubtful look. "No you won't."

"Don't think I will? I'm actually dying to see you squirm right now; this could be fun."

"You are so full of crap."

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Whatever helps you sleep at night. You have ten seconds to tell me where we're parked." He held up his hands to do a visual countdown for me in case I'd forgotten how to count backwards from ten.

"Until you clarify what you said back there with more than 'maybe I just wanted to jerk your chain,' I think I'll exercise the fifth." He was down to six. Five.

"You sure?" Four.

"Positive." Two.

"Fine," he huffed. "I warned you."

Nothing in the world could have honestly prepared me for Pip making good on his threat... but in half a second, there he was, with his right hand working its way into my coat and his left hand planted firmly on my ass.

"GET THE HELL OFF ME!" I screamed, jumping back half a mile and into a nearby car, whose alarm decided to go off just in case I hadn't already gathered enough attention. "I PARKED THE CAR OVER IN THE SEARS LOT!" Pip _did_ look smug now. Of course, my vision was so impaired by the gallons of adrenaline pouring through my system that he might have looked anything. I prayed to whatever deity might help me that I hadn't wet my pants.

"Thank you." That is possibly what he said. Because everything was a shrill ringing in my ears. None of my senses seemed to be functioning properly, actually. I didn't think I was physically capable of pushing myself up off the car I was melded into without collapsing – because my bones had decided that it would be a good idea to turn into gelatin – but asking Pip for help wasn't really an option either, because I didn't want those hands on me _ever_, _ever again_. Which was fine with him, apparently, because – though I was currently seeing everything in double vision – I could at least make him out walking away. Holy shit. _Holy shit_.

It was impossible to gage just how long it took my body to recover, because in the dim state of consciousness that my mind was suspended in _time didn't pass at all_. But five seconds or five minutes or five days later, my vision began to clear, the ringing in my ears faded to silence, and my heartbeat slowed down to about twice its normal rate. My legs still felt uncomfortably like jelly, but the car alarm hadn't stopped wailing (so clearly five days had not yet passed) and I needed to move my ass before the owner charged out and decided to sue me for the giant Damien-shaped dent in his door. Wobbling a little, I carried myself with moderate dignity through the JCPenney parking lot, passing at least three prepubescent boys who thought it appropriate to point over their backs at me and mutter derisive comments in voices left just loud enough for me to hear. Yes, thank you, Pip. Life just isn't complete until total strangers pass you laughing about the state of your anal cavity.

I caught sight of him perhaps halfway to the Sears lot – which was, really, where I had parked. (There were times to torture Pip's poor impressionable sanity and there were times to stand down and cover my reproductive organs with both hands.) It didn't quite make sense to me that I'd managed to catch up to him when I was walking on legs only just solid enough to keep me upright until I realized that he was walking even slower. He wanted me to catch up. Out of spite or genuine wariness, I slowed down, too... but then he was actually walking backwards and there was really nothing I could do about that.

He was all smiles now, which seemed highly unfair, especially since said smiles were now making me want to puke all over my shoes. When he reached a ten-foot proximity I instinctively shied to the left, but it only encouraged him to draw closer, apparently amused by the whole thing. "That really scared you, huh?" he asked with surprise, as though freaking out when some insane member of the same sex grabs your butt was something to be surprised about. I didn't exactly trust my voice to come out in anything discernable to the human ear, but I made my best effort.

"If what you mean by that is that I have now _died_ a little on the inside, then... yes."

"I didn't actually mean to do it," he said cheerily, swinging the paper JCPenney bag over his shoulder. "I figured you would cave." I rolled my eyes.

"Yes, that _is_ my style."

"I thought your hysterical homophobia would keep you from taking the chance," he explained with a shrug. "Especially if you really do think I'm a homo. But then it didn't, and..." I could count every tooth in his grin. "I don't like making empty threats."

"Oh, well then," I replied with mock relief, "I'm glad to hear that we have something in common. Because I swear to you on my mother's grave that if you _ever_ try something like that again I will _kill_ you." He laughed but didn't make a verbal reply. He knew I didn't like making empty threats, either.

It was complete silence walking through the Sears lot as I scanned the surrounding vehicles for the car we'd driven to the shopping complex. There was probably some irony in the fact that I could put to memory detailed directions and car models the way most people could put to memory their full names, seeing as how I could barely remember my own birthday... but it was one of those things that I needed to survive, and even my father – in all his paranoia – couldn't take such an ability away from me. There were caps on most of my cerebral activity, because it did him no good if I could perform brain surgery or compose symphonies or even remember the names of the girls I might have fallen in love with if given the chance... but if I died – if I got caught – the whole thing started over again, and worse for him than me. But thinking about that never did me any good. _Qué será_, _será_. Even conversation with Pip was preferable to thinking about my dad. I decided to break the silence.

"You know..." Pip turned to me with an inquisitive face. "The fact that a hand on my ass was all it took to turn your mood around from foaming-at-the-mouth to about-to-wet-yourself-with-self-satisfaction _might_ lead me to the conclusion that I was right about at least one thing." He shook his head with a snort of laughter.

"I know you'd love to believe that, but – though it _does_ pain me to say it – your bony ass really didn't do anything for me."

"Right, right. You only have hands for Cartman."

The comment punctured his mood like a needle in a balloon. Maybe it was sort of sick that our relationship was often just a competition of who was more pissed off at whom. At least I was winning. He looked like he was about to hit me. "You know," he started dryly, "yesterday _I_ was the one cracking the Cartman jokes."

"I'm not joking."

"I'm not laughing." I spotted the car and pulled my key out of my pocket, shuddering a little at the thought of Pip's hand there. He didn't seem to notice. "I understand that it's fun for you to humiliate people, but obviously something more is going on if you're using _Cartman_ to achieve that end; last night you kicked me into your headboard just for _mentioning_ him. You deny being jealous of him, but obviously you've got some kind of beef with the guy, and this weird, sudden obsession with our history is really starting to piss me off."

"Hey," I started defensively, opening the door. "I've—"

"Got your reasons, uh huh." I unlocked the passenger door and he climbed in, determined, maybe, to at least beat me to the radio.

"Listen, Pip—"

But he decided that it would be an opportune time to turn the volume up on the radio so loud that I couldn't even hear the engine roar to life. It was all I could do to keep from blasting him into oblivion, but I managed to rein in the desire and instead reached out to turn down the volume to a level acceptable enough that I could no longer feel the vibration of the bass in my teeth. He shot me a nasty look as if I'd really offended him by lowering the up-tempo Christina Aguilera song he'd inadvertently turned on. "You really want to know?" he growled, buckling his seatbelt with more aggression than strictly necessary.

"No," I replied caustically, rolling my eyes. "I thought I would just piss you off for the satisfaction of suffering through your pouting for the rest of the day." He'd clearly lost his sense of humor; the look in his eyes could've killed.

"You tell me why you're so interested in my relationship with Cartman," he began in a dry voice, looking me straight in the eye, "and I will tell you exactly what you want to know. Every dirty detail. I think that's more than fair, don't you?"

It took a moment of stunned surprise before I could even open my mouth. "You're... serious?"

"I'm dead serious," he replied, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back into the passenger seat. "If you're really so convinced that what I'm hiding from you is this humiliating, whatever you've got to tell me should be pale in comparison. And you know what? It probably is. But you..." He shook his head at me, almost smiling. "You won't take me up on the offer, will you? Because anything that hurts you even a _little_ isn't worth it. I am serious. As soon as you're ready to swallow your pride, I'll tell you everything."

That manipulative little bastard.

o o o

He struggled with the decision the entire ride back to the hotel, and when we pulled up to the entrance it was only to drop me off. "You've got the room key," he said without looking at me. "You can let yourself in." I raised an eyebrow.

"You're not coming in?" He shook his head, apparently still preoccupied with something in front of the windshield.

"I'm going for a drive. I'll be back in... I'll be back later."

Two hours later, he was still gone, and – as annoyed as I was with him – it was getting incredibly boring sitting around the hotel room by myself. I briefly contemplated calling Wendy, but found that I honestly had no real desire to talk to her, and eventually just let myself out onto the balcony for some fresh (ish) city air.

I had no idea why I'd made that offer to Damien. To be fair, I was probably safe; if Damien was keeping something from me out of embarrassment, there probably wasn't anything that could encourage him to divulge the information, no matter how humiliating a secret it might earn from me. But the idea of really _telling_ him... I shuddered and wrapped my arms around myself. If he had seen it (but he _couldn't_ have) then so be it. There was nothing I could do about it. But if he hadn't (and he _couldn't_ have) then... then what business was it of his? It didn't matter what sort of "secret" he could offer me in return; it wasn't any of his goddamn business! He... he couldn't possibly understand. Someone like him would never understand. I dug the heels of my hands into my eyes. Why had he brought this up at all? The whole thing was supposed to have been behind me years ago. But then... ha. I laughed to myself, eyes still shut against my hands. So was Damien.

Maybe, if it had been anyone else that I'd been getting close to, I wouldn't have minded. It might even have been a secret sort of relief to let go of this ugly past I'd been letting fester inside of me for all these years. But with Damien... I couldn't help feeling like there was always something to _prove_ with him. Like I always had to keep my guard up. Like I had to constantly distinguish the person I was now from the person I was back then or history would repeat itself all over again. Like if I showed weakness in front of him he could_ smell_ it, and he... I started laughing. Dory's bloody nose in _Finding Nemo_. Suddenly that was all I could think about. I was Dory. I couldn't control myself; I was sliding further down the wall with each successive laugh, probably destroying the seat of my jeans. I was Dory. I was Dory and he was Bruce and I was getting so wound up over this that I was comparing us to animated fish, and maybe I really needed to chill out after all. When I finally calmed down I was flat on my butt on the ground, slumped over my knees. Fuck it. I was calling Wendy.

Calling from the room's phone was preferable in the sense that I didn't have to call collect, but the long distance charge that would end up smacking the hotel in the face wasn't exactly thrilling, either. I wasn't sure I was ever going to get used to this constant string of theft. _Brring_._ Brring_.

"Hello; Testaburger residence." Her dad. Well, the accent had been enough to fool Wendy.

"Hi," I replied in a little squeak, embarrassing myself with the pathetic impersonation. "This is Sara. May I speak to Wendy?"

"Sure thing, Sara." I heard him cup his hand over the mouthpiece, but the loud "WENDY!" that followed was still plainly audible. "SOMEONE NAMED SARA'S ON THE PHONE FOR YOU!"

_CLOMP CLOMP CLOMP CRASH_. I rolled my eyes. Like I was going to hang up on her if she didn't pick up the phone in two seconds flat? "HELLO!" she shouted into the phone, and the father/daughter resemblance was uncanny. In the background I heard him wailing about whatever it was she'd broken.

"You know, really," I spoke calmly, in the hopes that it would inspire her to do the same, "I don't remember you being this excitable back in school."

"It's only been a day!" she replied, still talking a little too loud. I held the receiver away from my ear to prevent any spontaneous eardrum explosions. "Are you in trouble?" I frowned.

"Huh? No. No, I was just... it's only been a day?"

"Yeah." Her voice had quieted down to speaking level. "You called me last night."

Jesus. Was my time perception that out of whack? "Er... sorry," I apologized meekly, shaking my head and wondering if I was losing it. "I guess I'm under a lot of stress."

"I don't mind you calling," she reassured me. "I just... you know, it's a little needy." I glowered.

"Do you _want_ me to smack you in the face the next time I see you?" Wendy giggled.

"Is he really driving you so crazy that you need another dose of sweet, sweet Wendy this soon?"

I let out a defeated sigh. Good question. "Apparently." I glanced over at his rumpled bed. Why he left the _Do Not Disturb_ sign on the door handle 24/7 was still a mystery to me when clearly he had no intention of picking up after himself. "We had an argument over you, actually."

"Oh?" She sounded bizarrely satisfied with herself, like she was proud to have arisen as a means of conflict between us.

"Yeah." I stood up and pulled the comforter off his bed so I could straighten the sheets; call it obsessive compulsive. Wendy would've understood. "He didn't like the idea of me being in contact with someone back home."

"That doesn't sound good, Pip." The worry in her voice was drowned out by the sound of me whipping the sheet into the air, phone cradled between my ear and shoulder. "It's like he's telling you straight up that he doesn't want any witnesses." I chuckled a little.

"No; that wasn't it." I made my way around the perimeter of the bed to straighten out the sheet and smooth out any creases. "It was more the fact that you're a girl, y'know?"

There was a momentary pause on Wendy's end of the line. "The... fact that I'm a girl?"

"He thinks being romantically involved with anyone is a bad idea when you're 'on the run.'" I pulled the floral bedspread up from its heap on the floor.

"We're not romantically involved," she pointed out in a striking observation.

"I told him as much. He's just... afraid I'm going to betray him for you."

"What? Like I'm going to come hunt the guy down or something?" I laughed and threw the comforter over the bed.

"I said that, too."

"You sure he's not... just _jealous_?"

The comforter landed at an awkward angle, but I wasn't really concentrating on it. "Jealous?"

"Of me."

No. No, he wasn't. It was weird... I'd been teasing him all this time about being jealous of Cartman, but now that Wendy was suggesting it... it sounded completely ridiculous. Damien was right. It had been moronic to even think that he'd... "No. It's not... that's not it."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." I crawled up onto his bed to straighten the top of the comforter, cheeks a little pink. "He... definitely doesn't care whether or not I'm into him."

Damien chose that exact moment to walk into the room.

I screamed like he'd just caught me in the bathroom with a Playboy and slammed the phone down onto the cradle without so much as a _gotta run!_ to Wendy. He quirked his eyebrows.

"What are you doing?"

"Ah!" I scrambled up off his bed. "I was— thinking about fish, and I thought— so I called Wendy and then your bed was driving me crazy so I decided I'd—" I gestured hugely at the half-made bed. Damien didn't look at all appeased.

"You know what? Forget I asked."

"Uh... okay." That was probably for the best.

He closed the door behind him and I retreated to the opposite side of my bed in case he was in the mood to set something on fire. He didn't look particularly upbeat. Eyes downcast, he threw his key onto the night stand and fell backwards onto the bed I'd just been making, slinging an arm over his eyes. I contemplated going over and putting a hand on his shoulder, but thought better of it. That sort of thing didn't work with Damien. He did look like shit, though, and I couldn't ignore that.

"Are you alright?"

He nodded his head, forearm still blocking his vision. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just..." He didn't even have to look at me. A sudden iciness filled my stomach and I heard the words ringing in my ears before he even said them. "I've decided to take you up on your bargain."


	12. Out of the Bag

**Chapter Twelve – Out of the Bag**

I know I'd promised not to lie to him, but I couldn't help it. There was no way I was telling him that I'd been dreaming about Cartman fucking me, but... I had to know. I had to know why I was having these nightmares. If lying to him was the only way to get the truth out with my pride intact... so be it.

"I've decided to take you up on your bargain."

It was complete silence on Pip's end. I couldn't even hear him breathing. After maybe a minute or so of the disconcerting quiet I lifted my arm off my face to see if he was still alive. I hadn't heard the telltale _THUMP_ to the floor, but... who knew? But, no, Pip was still standing there in the realm of the living, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. I wanted to laugh at how ridiculous he looked, but what I was doing was unfair enough as it was. I crossed my arms behind my head and let him know with my eyes that I was waiting.

It took him another minute before he was able to coax out sound from his vocal chords. "You... what...?" Guess he hadn't hit the 'intelligible' mark yet.

"I'm taking you up on your offer," I repeated. "Remember that little deal you made m—"

"I remember!" he hissed, color creeping into his face. "I just...." He shot a quick look at the balcony door as if contemplating an escape from the conversation via plunging to his death. When he looked back at me, his eyes were so full of resentment that my stomach gave a little lurch of guilt. But I had to know. "You're really... going to tell me?"

"Yep."

"I thought it was 'none of my business?' What's with the change of heart?"

"You made me an offer I couldn't refuse."

His lower lip was trembling, and with that long blonde hair – even in those oversized clothes – he really did look like a total Nancy. "I... fine." He steeled his expression and crossed his arms. "You're up. Why are you so hung up on my history with Cartman?"

I took a deep breath and reversed the position of my arms to keep either limb from falling asleep. _Sorry, Pip_. _I really am_. _But you're right; there's something about this guy that my subconscious is trying to warn me of, and I've gotta know what it is before the situation starts to get messy_. _I do like you_. _I'll give you half the truth_. "For the past several nights you two have been fucking like nymphos in my subconscious. Now the image is burned into my skull and I'm not sure it won't haunt me for the rest of my life." All things considered, it was probably for the best that I didn't divulge the entire truth to Pip. He had gone the most hideous shade of puce I'd ever seen.

"Wh... _what?!_"

"Don't worry; they weren't wet dreams. Still, I'm sure you can see why I wasn't exactly eager to share with the class." Pip looked like his head was going to explode. "But it's been driving me crazy. If I'm going to be subjected to this sort of shit, the least I could get is some sort of leverage on it."

"You—" His arms and hands were flying all over the place. I had not the faintest idea what sort of gesture he was actually trying to make. "You've been— you're having _dreams_ about me— and _now_— _now_ you want to _blackmail_ me?!"

"Don't be an idiot," I replied, shaking my head. "That's not what I meant. What the hell would I blackmail you for, anyway? You don't have anything I want. I just meant that there's gotta be some real memory my head is taking a little artistic license with, and that if I could get a one-up on it maybe these dreams – however incredibly erotic they may be – might come to an end."

"I've already told you... we've never done it!" Something about the way he choked out the phrase "done it" was absolutely hysterical.

"So tell me what you did instead."

His arms fell to his sides and his expression flooded with utter helplessness. His lip was trembling again. "I...."

"I've said my piece," I told him, eyes locked on his. "Now it's your turn."

"But I—"

"_You're_ the one who made the deal, aren't you?"

He broke eye contact to look down at the floor, wringing out his shaking hands and biting his lower lip to keep from making any uninvited noises. If I'd been any weaker willed I would have caved, told him to forget the whole thing, and maybe taken him out to dinner. "... yes...."

"Go on, then."

He nodded slowly. "I...." He took a deep breath and made a slight movement that gave the impression of caving into himself. "I don't want you looking at me when I say it." I frowned, taken aback.

"Uh... alright. Just... go sit behind the bed or something." He did. He was silent again for a little while, and I thought maybe he'd chickened out and was now cowering in a ball on the floor, but then his voice cut through the silence with a little tremor and I was all ears.

"School... had just let out."

o o o

The unfortunate thing about a) living in a little town like South Park and b) being too young to drive was that the most practical mode of transportation to and from school involved a creaky old Bluebird whose route managed to pick up just about everyone I'd ever gone to elementary school with. This meant that its regulars included personalities from every end of the spectrum, from people like Wendy Testaburger – who would continue riding the bus well after she was old enough to drive because it was the "ecologically responsible" thing to do – to people like Eric Cartman – who didn't care at all about the ecosystem but seemed to get a kick out of tormenting other riders. This said, I inevitably wound up riding my bicycle to and from school every day.

There were pros and cons to this method. On one hand, the exercise was good for me and enabled me to maintain my stamina when I _did_ cross paths with my more violent classmates. On the other, no matter how sophisticated my bicycle locks were, my bike somehow managed to spend half its life upside-down in the ditches around the campus. That afternoon was no exception.

I could see from the front entrance that it wasn't tethered to the bike rack in front of the school, and I was used enough to the occurrence that I no longer felt it necessary to rush over to the spot where I'd left it and putter around helplessly for half an hour hoping it would magically reappear. There were several places the guys usually dumped my bike, so I wasted no time in hopping over the wall and heading to the first spot on my mental checklist. I'd made it a few feet into the woods behind the school when I heard the crying.

Two instincts pulled at me simultaneously: the instinct to help whomever the crying was coming from and the instinct to mind my own damned business and keep out of trouble. I needed to find my bike... to get home in time to finish up an English paper... but my feet found themselves wandering in the direction of the cries regardless.

After a few seconds it became obvious that the source wasn't human, though as I gradually got closer teenage voices joined the choir. My gut clenched. I recognized these voices. I knew immediately that I should turn back, but by that point I felt involved. Running away would've been a coward's choice. I crept closer – thanking the winter snowfall for muffling the sounds of my footsteps – until three familiar parkas came into view. I clapped a hand over my mouth to keep from shouting.

Stan wasn't with them, but that was no real surprise. He was an animal person; the state of the cat at their feet would've had him spewing chunks.

It was obvious why she was crying; all four of her legs were bound together with a frayed and filthy rope that looked as if it had been pilfered from the gym's supply room, and her fur was tangled and matted with blood. One of her ears was missing, but I couldn't tell from the distance I was at whether or not the boys were the ones responsible for it. It didn't occur to me that for them to have done this they must have been armed, that there were three of them and one of me, that my speed was useless to me in such a thickly forested area... I just bounded out into the clearing where the three boys were laughing amongst themselves because I had to stop this. Kyle was the first to notice me.

"Shit!" he yelled, face paling. Kenny and Cartman turned quickly at his outburst and I froze when their eyes narrowed on me. Kyle was unarmed, but both Cartman and Kenny were clutching short blades in their fists, and their expressions were considerably more menacing than Kyle's terrified one.

"What are you doing here?" Kenny asked icily, turning to face me fully. I took an involuntary step backwards.

"I'm looking for my bike," I replied in a voice that was a little too loud. There was no sense in lying to them.

"It wasn't us this time!" Kyle shouted, and I could see the beginnings of hysteria on his face. He was scared. He was afraid that I was going to turn tail and rat them out. He was standing there watching his friends carve up a cat and he was afraid of getting _caught_. My stomach lurched. I felt sick.

"Get lost, Pip." I glanced over to Cartman, who had mercifully pocketed his knife and was looking at me with a cool indifference. "Go find your bike."

"I'm not leaving!" I yelled, and Cartman raised an eyebrow. "Give me that cat – she needs medical attention!" Cartman smirked.

"We're playing with her right now. Sorry."

"Give me the goddamn cat!"

Cartman's expression was fathomless. His face was like some hideous plastic mask, completely devoid of human emotion, but beneath the cold surface there was something dangerous bubbling. The cat was meowing pitifully behind him. "This isn't any of your business, Pip. And if you don't want to get hurt you'll keep it that way." My hands clenched into fists despite the knowledge that there was no way I could take all of them on at once.

"I'm not going anywhere until you untie that cat and _give her to me_." My voice was shaky; adrenaline had started flooding into my system, I could feel it. Cartman looked almost amused at my response.

"I'm not going to give you the cat," he said simply. "This is too much fun."

I couldn't control myself. "You perverted _asshole!_" Then I made my dash.

By shock factor alone I made it past Cartman and Kenny, and I'd actually grabbed the cat and was halfway back up when Kyle's panicked scream ruined it all. I was already flushed with adrenaline and the sudden noise tipped me into overdrive; I overbalanced and fell forward onto the ground, grunting as snow flooded my nose and mouth. Using one arm to cradle the now even more terrified animal against my chest and the other to push myself off the ground, I made a valiant attempt to get up and keep running, but a deft heel in the curve of my spine kept me down. I could tell from the weight that it was Cartman. I was suddenly shuddering and I couldn't tell whether it was from anger, revulsion or fear.

"Game over." I could hear the smile in his voice. He was genuinely enjoying this. I clenched my eyes shut against the snow and struggled to control my breathing. I'd kill him.... I'd fucking... kill him.... "It's not you we're after this time, Pip. Count your blessings and get lost."

"You're out of your mind," I panted, breath melting the frozen ground beneath me, "if you think I'm going to go quietly and let you mutilate this cat. For god's sake, it's probably someone's pet!" Two of the boys above me laughed, and I could guess which two; Kyle was probably too busy pissing in his pants to find anything amusing.

"It's one of the strays from my neighborhood, dickweed," Kenny said. "D'you think we're stupid enough to pick up a cat that people will go looking for?"

_Yes_, I wanted to bite back contemptuously, because what they were doing now was so stupid it bordered on psychopathic. But I held my tongue. "I'll take the cat to a shelter, then," I said quietly, the blood from its fur creating a sticky mess on my fingers. "Take your foot off me. I won't tell anyone that you were the ones responsible for this if you take your goddamn foot off me and let me go."

"You just don't get it, do you?" Cartman sneered, digging his heel harder into my back; the cat howled beneath me as my chest pushed her into the ground. "Unless you'd like us to carve _you_ up instead, you're not getting the cat."

I was silent. I tried to concentrate on keeping my breaths even. It was a moment or two before Cartman let out an incredulous laugh. _Deep, even breaths_.

"You _would_ like that, wouldn't you, you masochistic little fuck?"

"Having a few shreds of decency doesn't make me a masochist!" I spat, trembling. "If you're so perverted that the only way you can get your rocks off is to see a little blood, fine; enjoy your little fetish. Kick me around if you want, but leave the fucking cat alone... she's going to _die_ if you keep doing this, don't you get it?" The boys were quiet. To my right, Kenny shuffled his feet against the snow and the leaves. The weight of Cartman's foot lifted slightly.

"Fine."

"Dude!" Kyle urged his sociopath of a friend in a frantic whisper, voice so weak it was barely audible. "People are gonna see the cuts if you slice him up, and you're the first one everyone would suspect! Don't be an idiot!" Cartman's voice was lecherous.

"I don't plan on it. But if the guy wants to play with us so badly...." His laughter was like nails on a chalkboard. "I don't wanna deny him the opportunity." Kyle looked like he was about to interrupt, so Cartman cut him off. "Don't worry, Broflovski. I'm not gonna leave any marks on him that he'll be showing off."

Even his friends didn't seem to know where he was going with this; I didn't, either, but a heavy sense of dread flooded my stomach at the tone alone. "What do you—"

"You really wanna play?" he asked tauntingly, as if daring me. "Drop your pants."

The effect these words had on everyone present was singular: we all let out a perfectly synchronized gasp of horror. "You're not gonna _fuck_ him?!" Kenny sputtered indecently. It was like something out of a BDSM movie.

"Don't!" I yelled anxiously, emboldened by the fact that his own friends were repulsed by this hideous turn of events. But Cartman let out a derisive snort and kicked me with his heel.

"Don't flatter yourself," he said with disgust. "I'd rather fuck the cat."

"I don't doubt that!" I snapped, face red, but relief washed over me like warm water. I think I would have let them have the cat before I let Cartman touch me.

"_You're_ going to fuck you."

It took a moment for the implication of this sentence to fully sink in, and even then I doubted my own assumption for fear that I was overreacting in the heat of the moment. I chanced a look sideways and noticed that the other two boys seemed to be struggling with the same decision. Clearly, this wasn't the sort of thing they did on a daily basis, and I was hopeful that in their shock they might even put an end to the whole affair. Still, that little flare of hope was far from comfort. "Wh... what?"

"Drop your pants," he repeated, but without any of the disturbing playfulness from before. His friends were silent.

"I... I don't think so!" I laughed nervously. This wasn't happening. This was... sick. This was sick and weird. This wasn't happening. This wasn't—

Cartman's foot lifted completely from my back, and I made to get up, but almost instantly I was knocked back down as he sat swiftly on the back of my knees. I let out a howl of pain at the unexpected weight on my joints, and Cartman took advantage of that moment of distraction to loop his arms under my own and lace his hands behind my neck, pulling me up into an effective headlock and twisting my torso up off the ground; I waved my arms frantically to no effect. _This is insane_. _This isn't real_. "Kenny, get the cat," Cartman barked at his friend, and the feel of his breath against the back of my neck made me want to scream.

As if in a trance, the blonde walked forward and picked the bloody cat up off the ground. I moaned in anguish as he took the animal away from me, and our eyes met for a moment... but his expression was impossible to read. He broke eye contact immediately and walked back to Kyle, who looked as terrified as I felt. _Help me_, I wanted to scream at him. _Help me, you coward; this is more serious than a fucking suspension!_ But no one helped. Cartman let go of me as soon as Kenny had walked away, and my face hit the ground unceremoniously. I thought maybe I could just stay there and cry and wait for it all to go away, but they had the cat again and this wasn't a game.

"Your choice, Pip," Cartman's harsh voice stated above me. "Either get lost and keep your mouth shut about this or prove to us just how much this cat is worth to you."

I couldn't speak for a few moments, and when I did, my voice shook with uncertainty. "I don't—"

"Do you want me to make the decision for you?!"

I didn't. Trembling hysterically, I pushed myself up into a low crouch and fumbled for my belt buckle.

Everything that followed happened in slow motion, like suddenly we'd all been submerged in twelve feet of water. It took me almost a minute to undo my belt and fly with the horrible tremor in my hands, and when I'd finally managed this task I slid my jeans down to my knees with all the reluctance of someone removing their own skin. One of the boys was snickering, but it was too difficult to discern which one; my senses were so hazy that he sounded as if he were miles away from me. Cold and terrified, my fingers settled on the waistband of my boxers in a silent question.

"Sorry," Cartman answered without a trace of apology. "But I won't be able to tell if you're really doing it otherwise. You can cover your lap; nobody wants to see your dick." I swallowed heavily and clenched my eyes shut, then slowly pulled my underwear down as well.

I can't say that it was silent; blood was pounding in my ears at a deafening volume. But no sound escaped the three boys, and it was both disconcerting and merciful. I could almost pretend, doubled over in some pathetic attempt at modesty, that there was noone else there. Even Cartman must have been taken aback, because it took him several moments to force out his next command, and his voice betrayed a hint of awe.

"One finger."

My eyes snapped open and I jerked involuntarily. I mean— I hadn't assumed he meant anything else! I hadn't been expecting anything else! But hearing that command spelled out in his distant voice was so surreal I could barely catch my breath. I coughed painfully as I choked on air and looked up – perhaps with the intention of begging Cartman to reconsider – but there was Kenny in front of me, holding that bloody cat with her legs still bound together, and I knew in my gut that there was nothing else I could do. I wasn't evil like the three of them. And I didn't have a choice. Hating God and myself but mostly hating them, I braced myself against the ground with my left arm, and with my right reached around to do something I had never in all my life imagined I'd be doing.

The _idea_ of it wasn't new to me. I'd been singularly targeted as South Park's resident fag nearly all my life; from the years of teasing if nothing else... well, I had a pretty damn good idea of what went on behind the closed doors of the White Swallow. The actual _act_, on the other hand... nothing could have braced me for something so abrasive and intrusive. The fact that every muscle in my body was clenched to the point of seizing didn't help matters, either. "I can't...." My voice was as racked as Kyle's, now. "I can't... get in...."

"Cartman, maybe we should—"

"So use some spit or something, Christ!" There was still a slight quake in Cartman's voice, but he had forced an admirable amount of cruelness back into it. "I'd think you'd be an expert at this by now!" His words hit me like a slap in the face. The last thing I wanted to do was to take his sick facsimile of advice... but I really couldn't push even one finger past the ring of muscle screaming _EXIT ONLY_ at the pain sensors in my brain. I drew a shaky finger into my cotton-dry mouth and prayed for saliva. Someone was halfheartedly snickering above me – probably more to appease Cartman than anything else – but the gravity of the situation snuffed it out in a second. My nose stung with the telltale promise of tears. I tried again.

Describing the physical experience of the miniature success that followed would be impossible; the feeling was so strange, so utterly unlike anything I had ever felt, that for the first few seconds after I'd breached that initial barrier my mind couldn't register anything at all but shock. When real sensation flooded back to me it was in hazy semblances of feelings I already knew: pressure, pain, violation... and a sick sense of relief that I had done it, if only up to the first knuckle. Even if my body was trembling and desperate to expel the foreign object that had invaded it, I wanted to cheer through my watery vision. I'd—

"Two fingers."

My victory escaped me in a ragged, unintentional moan. Two...? _Two_..._?_ "B-but I—"

The sound of Cartman's bark of a laugh behind me was so truly terrifying that the nervousness in his own voice was minute by comparison. "You're not even bleeding yet." I closed my eyes as some preemptive strike, but it was no use; I couldn't hold back tears any longer.

_Let this be a nightmare_, I thought, shifting my weight onto my heels because I needed more spit and there was no way I was removing the one finger I'd already managed to force in. _Let this be a hallucination_. I spat out as much mucus-heavy saliva as I could muster into my palm. _Let this be a horrible, horrible joke_. I clenched my eyes and willed myself unsuccessfully to loosen my muscles as I desperately tried to slide in a second finger next to my first. _Let this kill me_.

No one was laughing now, not as I wept in humiliation and shook with agony and pushed as hard as my tolerance for pain – heightened in all the wrong places – would allow me. The latter was proving to be the most serious challenge. I knew that it was physically possible... knew that it could be done... knew that if it were Cartman I could have an entire first crammed up me by now... but the courage to push so far beyond my own boundaries... to impose such a serious trespass upon myself.... I swallowed heavily and steeled my resolve. I had to do this. Because I was better than them. I was better than _him_. I held my breath, bit the inside of my cheek, and thrust back in one decisive motion before I had the chance to change my mind.

"_Nngh— a-ah!_" It was way too tight. I wasn't even in to the first knuckle and my lower body was searing with agony. Instead of stretching to accommodate the second finger, my muscles clamped down even tighter, struggling to expel it. I fought with every inch of my willpower against the contractions of my abdominal muscles, but overriding the natural reflexes of my body wasn't an easy battle. I was biting my cheek to the point of bleeding, and the flow of tears down my face was getting steadily heavier as my entire body shuddered with the overload of such conflicting commands. I begged myself to relax, but there was no way in hell I could relax in a situation like this. Years of getting my ass kicked by Cartman and his friends had desensitized me to most types of pain, but this was so, so different... this aching, internal stretch... I felt like my insides might all rip open at any second. This was too much. My body couldn't take this much.

"Th... three fingers."

At those uneasy words I retched emptily and – to my utter horror – let out a loud, racked sob. My nose must have been running, too, because when I opened my mouth I could taste the salt of my own snot. "I can't!" I cried, feeling that – kneeling half-naked on the ground in front of three other boys – my pride really wasn't all that important anymore. "Cartman, I can't do _t-two!_"

"Do you want the cat or not?!" His voice was hysterical. I couldn't begin to fathom what was going on in that twisted head of his. "Kenny, take off that thing's foot—"

"D-don't!" I screamed, every breath of mine now a shuddering sob. I wanted to die. Pain and fear and humiliation were tearing at my every fiber. "I'll— I'll d-do it!" And, motivated by nothing but sheer, unadulterate terror, I did.

Adrenaline had given me the strength to push in that third finger, but it couldn't snuff out the jolt of pain that shot through me as the walls around my knuckles finally did rip. I was so preoccupied with the sensation of that internal tear that for awhile I failed to notice the blood dripping down over my fingers, but, when I did, the acknowledgment of it scared me so senseless that I managed to throw up some real vomit this time, moaning in despair at the hideousness of it all. It was all I could see: dark red vomit pooling over the already stained snow beneath me. In my vision it all turned to blood, all of it mine, all leaking out of me and onto the ground where everyone could see. I was ready to pass out when, by some grace of God, it ended.

"STOP IT!" screamed a hoarse voice that sounded vaguely like Kyle's; I looked to my side and saw, to my total surprise, that there were tears streaming down his face. His cheeks were ashen and his eyes were shut tight, presumably to block out the image of me kneeling down over a puddle of my own vomit, three fingers still crammed inside me. "Sh-shit!" He rubbed his eyes furiously. "Cartman, stop this now!"

I couldn't turn to look at him; he was directly behind me. But I heard the shuffle of his feet and the rustle of his coat, and, finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he said cooly, "Whatever. Fine." Kyle let out a muffled sob. "Stop."

Pulling those three slimy fingers out of me was such relief that I almost wanted to thank Kyle. I was so sore that I doubted I'd be able to walk anytime soon, and I was sure that I was bleeding all down my legs now, but the worst was over. I stayed on my knees only long enough to pull my pants back up, then collapsed in a heap to the frost-covered ground, weeping with gratitude that it was over. It could be okay now. Everything would be alright now. When a voice spoke above me, I was only half listening. "Should I...?" Kenny. It was Kenny. "What do you want me to do with the cat?"

Shit. The cat. I turned and propped myself up on an elbow to see Kenny clutching the bloody but quiet animal in his arms. From behind me, Cartman strode into view and plucked the cat out of his grasp, eliciting a weak mewl. I scrambled to my knees. "G... give her to me," I breathed, holding out my filthy hands. "Give m-me the cat...." But Cartman seemed to be taking his time, gently stroking the cat's fur with the affection of an actual human being.

"Isn't he just too sweet?" Cartman cooed at the cat, scratching it under the chin. "Look at those disgusting hands. All that blood's for you, isn't it, kitty? Yeah... it's all for you, you pretty motherfucker. Well. A promise is a promise, right?" He smiled and withdrew his hand, placing the bound cat on the ground a few feet in front of me. I made to get up, but Cartman's words froze me in place. "After all, he wants to see you out of your misery _so bad_...." He straightened up and stretched his arms over his head, popping his shoulder joints. "_So bad_...." Then he lifted his right foot and perched it just over the whimpering cat's skull. My blood ran cold.

"C... C-Cartman...." He turned and smiled at me, eyes gleaming with awe and fear and hysteria all at once.

"Sorry, Pip. But I really can't have you taking this cat anywhere. Not that I don't trust you to keep our little secret."

"Cartman!" I couldn't move. I was too petrified to move. "Cartman, don't! Y-you said you— JESUS C—! _CARTMAN!_"

There was one last fleeting howl, the crunching of bone, and then nothing but the sound of my own screams.

o o o

For several minutes after the story ended, neither of us said anything. I felt like I'd been punched in the gut. In my head I could see him standing before me, arms around my shoulders and Pip's hair tangled in his teeth. "Pip...."

"I don't know how you could've seen it. But I guess you did." His hollow voice made me feel like puking. "That's the closest thing to 'fucking' we ever did."

"That's not—"

"Go away. Please."

But I couldn't.

I still didn't understand most of it. How _had_ I managed to witness something like that? Wouldn't they have noticed some kid traipsing through the forest within discernable eyeshot? Winter foliage doesn't exactly provide the greatest cover. And if I _had_ seen it... why the hell had it made such an impression on me? The unwelcome truth was that I had seen worse – personally _done_ worse – and that even if I'd managed to stumble across the most agonizing and humiliating moment of this guy's life it shouldn't have made a dent in my hell-twisted psyche. But for this memory to have lay dormant for so long... something about it must have rubbed me the wrong way. And the only possible explanation that my pounding head could come up with was that the chord it struck in me had nothing to do with the torture and everything to do with its victim. Had Pip... _been_ something to me? Before this... what had he meant to me? The fact was, though, that – at the moment – every question swimming through my head was irrelevant. Because I knew what Pip meant to me now. And I knew how this made me feel now, even if it didn't make any sense at all. There was time to drive myself crazy over this later. He'd only just noticed me walking around the side of his bed when I'd dropped down to my knees and pulled him close to me.

It wasn't like Monday night. He didn't resist this time. He threw his arms hurriedly around my neck as if he were afraid that this rare display of humanity would evaporate if he didn't seize it quickly enough. I noticed that his face was dry against my shoulder, and it struck me as bizarre that he was holding back tears now when several days ago he'd been bawling over throwing up on a Motel 6 carpet. Maybe his ego had taken such a blow in dragging out this skeleton in the closet that crying would've pushed him completely over the edge. I wanted to tell him that it was alright to cry if he needed to (and judging by the tightness of his grip on me, he did) but I knew I would've felt the same way. Besides, this was gay enough already. Thing was, this was the only sort of plastic comfort I knew how to give. Physical comfort had always been a means of tricking overly emotional girls into bed, and even if the present situation didn't quite match up I figured it was close enough to try. It was pathetic, but this was as genuine as I knew how to be. Pip's fingers curled into my back and something stirred in my chest.

"Thank you," he whispered into my shirt, slightly calmer. I wanted to laugh at him. _Thank you for what?_ He had been so completely right about me. He'd made that deal in total sincerity, the exchange offered ridiculously in my favor, and I'd cheated him anyway. I didn't deserve to sit there in the presence of this pure-hearted kid who'd debased himself for the sake of some goddamn stray, this too-trusting idiot who could've just as easily walked into his own death... and yet all I wanted to do was laugh at him, tell him what a moron he was, tell him how fucking stupid he was.

Because he'd told me the truth after all. And now he'd have to kill me to keep me from going back to South Park.


	13. Homeward Bound

**Chapter Thirteen — Homeward Bound**

Sleep was impossible that night. God knows I tried; I wanted to get the figurative taste out of my mouth. Until that point, everything about that afternoon had been like some distant, childhood nightmare. I'd never spoken a word of it to anyone, and somehow that silence had served as a blanket to muffle the memory with. Being forced to relive that experience – and the nightmares that had accompanied my entire middle school career – just to satisfy Damien's morbid curiosity... it was like tearing open a wound that had never properly healed over in the first place. Every time I rolled over and closed my eyes in an attempt to get some sleep, I saw that creature's broken and mutilated corpse plastered to my eyelids. Retching emptily into the sheets in a cold sweat was getting really old, really fast. But every time I flung my sheets off and made to get up and beat the living shit out of Damien for opening up this can of worms... I realized with a pang of humiliation that I just couldn't bring myself to be angry at him.

I should've been. I should've wanted to kill him. None of this – _none of this_ – was his business, and I still couldn't bring myself to accept that he'd seen any of it. We would've seen him first.... I brought the heels of my palms up to my eyes, nose stinging. He'd given me a dream – a _dream_, without any solid grounding in reality, a dream that could've been symbolic for _anything_ – and I'd had to hand him the single most humiliating moment of my life on a platter. He was such... a fucking... piece of shit.... I swallowed heavily in an effort to push back the nausea. But he... _fuck_, he....

The only people that had known about what happened in the woods behind the school that afternoon looked down upon me after the incident with the same utter lack of remorse. I would catch glimpses of guilt in Kyle's face every now and then, but I never got an apology, and I was pretty sure that he was more concerned with his clean record than my emotional well-being. But Damien, who'd been a self-satisfied asshole throughout our entire stint across Colorado, who looking so fucking ridiculous all tangled up in his sheets wearing the most repulsively paisley pair of boxers I'd ever seen in my life... I laughed inwardly. He'd actually reacted to the story with something like compassion. And for the life of me I couldn't figure out why. A part of me – a _big_ part of me – wanted to believe that he had looked on with pity back then for the same reason he'd shown me mercy that night in Middle Park, or sat with me in that Motel 6 bathroom for hours with a cup in his hand. That, whether he had remembered me or not those few chance times we ran into each other over the years... some part of his subconscious had stowed away the memory of a stupid little blonde kid who'd held out his hand to him... and that, maybe, that kid had meant something to him. It was a ludicrous, conceited idea... but it kept me from hating him, and I liked the feeling of warmth it sent through my stomach. It was better than the nausea, in any case.

The night was still restless, and any sleep I did get was punctuated by rapid-fire images of blood and gore and black hair... but I was... okay. And that was sort of incredible.

o o o

I didn't give Pip time to wake up and fake casualness. The second I woke up, I was out of there. There were a few things I still needed before attempting to pull all of this off.

It was actually kind of unbelievable, how easily I slipped back into my old routine when Pip wasn't around. For one, I was much more ritualistic about my actual method of transportation. I just didn't have the time for it when he was around, but the second he was out of the picture it was all so practiced and mechanic. I watched and waited against the wall of the building with a cigarette I wasn't really smoking for a suitable specimen. The first car to pull in belonged to a young businessman who hit every stereotype in the book; he never put down his cell phone the entire walk to the front doors. He wouldn't do. He'd be back out in a second. People like him ran on caffeine pills and the fumes of their own egos. He'd be too busy to stop. It didn't matter that it was ass crack in the morning. He'd have somewhere he absolutely had to be. And in fifteen minutes, tops, there he was again, climbing back into his car. I let out a pretend puff of smoke and shifted my weight. I could do this all morning, baby.

The next one looked like a hopeful even as it was pulling in; it was weaving slightly, which meant that whoever was driving it was either exhausted, drunk, or Asian. Two out of three. Not bad odds. A balding white man stepped out of the car with two suitcases, and a grin crept slowly across my face. He looked like absolute shit; his eyelids were barely open, and there was weariness written in every line of his posture. The guy'd been driving all night. He'd take two steps into his hotel room and collapse. I had plenty of time to take that piece of shit he was driving out for a spin and have her back in time for lunch. I gave him twenty minutes to make it up to his hotel room, realize he'd forgotten something and come back for it, but the front doors stayed resolutely shut. Showtime.

If I'd had a shred of decency, I might've been looking for a 24-hour pharmacy. No; scratch that. I wouldn't have been looking for a pharmacy at _all_. But I was decidedly lacking in that department, and at the moment this seemed completely rational. The moment I spotted a CVS, I made a sharp turn into the shopping center and hopped out of the car, the driver's side mirror wobbling dangerously as I did. If I'd had any cash on me I might've left some for the poor bastard driving this thing. I didn't, of course, and at the moment I had more important things on my mind anyway. I approached the drugstore with both hands shoved deep in my pockets and a furtive glance to each side. Really wouldn't do for anyone to notice this; the second my eyes were back on the CVS, the entire store shorted out, several sparks fluttering down from the neon sign over my head. I needed any security systems that might be set off to get a few minutes of shut-eye, but pushing open those automatic doors manually was always a pain in the ass. The second I'd squeezed my way in I got to work.

The pharmaceutical counter itself was easy to find, but slipping behind it and digging through shelf upon shelf for just a few damn pills was a lengthy process, and each passing second made getting caught a much realer possibility. I guess I shouldn't say "getting caught." It was hard to take into custody someone who could have your brains dripping out your ears with only a glance. But Pip was so damned sensitive about that sort of thing, and – all things considered – I just didn't think the timing was right to be leaving a wake of corpses behind me. Admittedly, I— oh ho ho. _Restoril_. That'd work. I pocketed a few pills and hopped back over the counter. It was all sort of fun, in a twisted way. Much later, after Pip had forgiven me, I'd try to relay the humor to him.

Maybe the most bizarre thing about the whole situation, I mused to myself as I was driving back, was that the thought of Pip wasn't bothering me at all. It probably should've had me antsy; there had been a little too much sentiment shared last night for my taste. But that wasn't what I'd been trying to keep off my mind all night. Hell, I wasn't even trying to avoid the thought of him at Cartman's mercy... though that was admittedly the reason I was out on the road at six in the morning with a pocketful of prescription drugs. What had been eating at me, the reason I'd devised this entire scheme to keep my thoughts otherwise occupied... was what I'd been trying to avoid even with my arms around Pip. What Cartman had done to him? It was murder. It was rape. It was torture.

And I'd done it all without remorse.

I didn't have a single stain on my conscience, because there just wasn't any sin in the world uglier than what was already writhing around inside of me. That's the way it had to be if I was ever going to become what I was born to be. But... there was something that was different with Pip. There was something like regret that responded to that insufferably ignorant face. There was something that he evoked in me like—

"_You are_ appalling."

My eyes shot immediately up to the rear-view mirror. "Figured you'd be sporting a black eye after that night on the balcony."

"_You can't possibly know how sorry I am to disappoint_." My lips twisted upwards, and both of our smiles were grim. "_You are _falling_ for him_."

I swerved so unexpectedly into the next lane that I actually clipped another car. The owner of the car behind me slammed on her brakes and held down the horn of her car long enough to wake up the entire county, but I didn't give a rat's ass one way or the other. Filing a hit-and-run on this license plate number wasn't gonna hurt me. "What the _fuck_ are you talking about?!"

"_You suspect something already!_" hissed the face in the mirror as I moved quickly back into my original lane. I didn't need that bitch on my tail. "_Something buried deep in the recesses of your mind has been holding onto the memory of this boy_. _You don't know why, but I know what you are most afraid of_._ You fear so much_—"

"That I cared for him, yeah, I know," I spat back, hands sweaty around the steering wheel. "But that hardly qualifies as 'falling' for him."

"_You're heading back to South Park against all semblance of caution just to even the odds for that little brat_."

"I owe him one. And the dick that did it to him has it coming."

"_His memory really _has_ struck a chord in you, hasn't it? That you're still reacting so violently—_"

"The kid was decent to me, alright? I treated him like shit and he was still standing there waiting every time I came back to him. Dad's little trick wasn't prepared for that, and the kid inadvertently slipped through some loophole in it. That's all it is."

"_Is it really? Then what woke it up?_" The smile reflected back at me was venomous. "_You have suffered beneath the skin every time you've seen him hurt, but never until now have you acted on it_._ Something has changed_."

"Yeah." I loosened my grip on the wheel, wiping my left palm on my jeans. "He found me again, and after years of getting shit on by people just like me he was still the same guy. Dad's system fucking _collapsed_."

I glanced up at the mirror and laughed, but nobody responded.

o o o

I felt like a kid at the end of the summer holiday, so damn bored with the monotony of doing _nothing_ that even school was starting to look appealing again. I guess it was different for Damien; he had a means of transportation and probably twenty different kinds of identification to get him into bars or clubs or... well, some chick's pants, I guess. I had the three books Damien had picked up for me – each of them a Harlequin Romance, because apparently I struck him as just that type of guy – and twenty channels of pay-per-view porn. But after dragging up the ugliest memory of my life and then being promptly abandoned by the guy who'd helped me do it, there just wasn't enough nudity or phallic imagery in the world to keep me occupied.

I didn't have a car – or the means to borrow someone else's – but there was bound to be a public transportation route near the hotel, and I did have daddy's plastic. (I chose to ignore the fact that "daddy" was, in this particular case, Satan.) I'd only taken two steps out of the room, however, when I all but collided with the last person I'd had my heart set on running into.

"_Sara_..._?_"

She only kept her eyes on me long enough to look horrified, shoot me a vicious snarl, then actually lift her hand up to flip me the bird. After that, she was perfectly content to storm off furiously. It was stupid and irrational, and I'd promised Damien that Wendy was the only girl I'd even speak to... but there was just something in that poor kid's expression that had me chasing her down the hallway.

"Sara, wait!" I cried, reaching for her wrist and wrapping my hand around it in such an accurate vice grip it surprised even me. She shot me another contemptuous glare over her shoulder and yanked her arm in the opposite direction, but she wasn't quite strong enough.

"Get your hand _off_ of me, Philip!" She looked so genuinely distressed that I was tempted to just let her go, but the pathetic, sniveling part of me that I was _so_ grateful Damien wasn't here to see wanted so badly to make things right again.

Hell, it really wasn't a surprise that I'd been taken advantage of as often as I had, was it?

"Look, I know you—" I managed to catch her other arm right as her elbow made for my nose "—are clearly still upset about the other day, but _please_, for the sake of my own sanity, let me explain to you what a complete dickwad my friend is." That seemed to slow her down enough for me to force her elbow back down to her side where it wasn't in any danger of giving me a black eye.

"I'm sure you've got a pretty story, but—"

"Just give me a _second_." I spun her around to face me, giving her the expression I usually saved for Wendy when I was low on change and I needed to make a xerox. It wasn't quite as effective on this girl, though it did seem to take her glare down from "destroy" to "stun." "I've felt like absolute shit since that morning and—" well, okay, that wasn't entirely her doing, but "—I've... well, to be honest, I didn't really think I'd run into you again. But... since I have... please let me apologize. Even if it's for... whatever the hell Damien said I did. What did he call the guy...? Mark...?"

Sara surveyed me with a slightly tilted head and a pouted lip. "Damien.... That's your friend?" I let out a little laugh.

"If you can even call it that." I rolled my eyes without really meaning to, and Sara's arm loosened in my grasp. I released my hold on her, but she didn't run. She didn't look particularly thrilled with me, either, but at least she was giving me a chance. "Look, if there really was some other... guy...." God, even saying that made me cringe. "I would've been with him. Not with the asshole I'm sharing that room with."

"Kind of weird to be splitting a hotel room with a guy like that, then, isn't it?" Her eyebrows were raised and her tone was patronizing, but there was the faintest hint of a smile on her lips and my heart leapt for it.

"Heh... trust me: I've heard enough of that to last a lifetime." The smile I shot at her was tentative, but she returned it, albeit reluctantly.

"The whole thing still leaves a bad taste in my mouth. You know that, right?" I nodded, defeated.

"I know, I know... and if nothing else, I apologize for my terrible taste in company. Please... let me make this right. I can't stand having you... well, flip me off the way you just did." She finally laughed, and it was no small victory.

"Alright, then. Here's the deal. I was only heading down to the front desk to see if I could get some more toilet paper for our room; my mom eats the stuff. But both of my parents are out on a dinner date while I sit around the room renting pay-per-view porn just to piss them off." Been there. "You take me out somewhere nice, and we'll call it even. Unless Mark actually shows up. In which case I will quite literally beat the living shit out of you."

It was a bizarre sensation, being asked out so brazenly by a girl who'd just tried to break my nose.... On one hand, Damien would murder me if he even knew this conversation was taking place. He had quite specifically laid out the terms of agreement for our living situation, and this violated about fifteen of them. On the other hand... the girl was cute, and I wasn't the sort of guy that got asked out a lot.

"I've got Damien's credit card. Where do you want to go?"

It really shouldn't have been as fun as it was, going out with her. We'd only met a few days ago, and that brief acquaintance had ended with my getting backhanded – which hurt, for the record. But she was warm, and friendly, and hardly bitched at all when I warily explained that Damien had the car. It was admittedly cold outside, though, and after about a mile we both agreed that Applebee's was plenty nice enough for us. To compensate, we both ordered enormous steaks that neither of us had the remotest chance of finishing and toasted to my dark-haired friend's misfortune.

"Really, though," she asked at about the six ounce marker, "if the guy's such a douche, why do you hang around him?" I shrugged, finishing off my onion ring, because we'd gone ahead and ordered some of those, too.

"You know that old, cherished childhood friend that you don't realize is a dead weight to society until you've been friends way too long to tell them to screw off?" Sara laughed, blonde hair bouncing at her shoulders.

"You must be nicer than I am. I just go ahead and tell my girlfriends to screw off, anyway." She snorted into her coke, which was cute and sort of disgusting at the same time.

I smiled a little sheepishly, tugging defensively at the ski cap on my head. "I... hell, I don't know. Maybe it's just ridiculously stupid, but there's this lingering attachment to him that I just can't shake. And, despite everything... even he's got his good qualities."

"Like being a jealous, overbearing sociopath?" I tossed my next onion ring at her, because that leering grin was unbearable.

"I'll grant him the 'sociopath' bit. The rest...." I shifted a little in my seat. "He's got his reasons."

I couldn't tell whether the look on her face was forced or genuinely sympathetic; it was hard to distinguish between the two when she was chewing a piece of steak the size of her fist. "Bad twack recowd?" Yeah, this girl would definitely not be welcome in polite society.

"You could say that." It wasn't _really_ a lie, was it? None of my relationships had ever had much of a happy ending, romantic or not. It wasn't the reason Damien was keeping such close watch over me, but it wasn't necessarily a lie, either.

"Maybe he's just looking out for you, then." That smile might have been endearing if it hadn't been accompanied by a statement that nearly made me choke on my drink in an attempt to stifle a laugh.

"Not his style. If anything, he's probably just looking to avoid cleaning up the mess that tends to trail in the wake of romantic involvement." Sara waved a dismissive hand.

"Pfft. It's not his mess to clean up, is it?" In this case, yeah, it would be, but I couldn't really tell her that. "Listen. He's your friend. He's either worried about you, or, y'know... wants you for himself." She shot me a lewd wink that made my stomach flip over, and with nearly half a pound of steak in it... wasn't so comfortable, gotta be honest.

"You know... I'm seriously guessing that's not the issue." Something about that sentence came out a little more self-loathing than it was supposed to, and it was reflected on Sara's face. Her smile was sympathetic, and her words were way softer than warranted.

"Does that bother you?"

My entire face went up in flame. "No! No. God, no!" I let out an awkward laugh, holding up my hands. "Hell, if I were _gay_ I'd have trouble loving that guy." How the hell did this conversation wind up here? "I mean, honestly, he...." But I couldn't summon up words for what he was. Because in a warped sort of way, he _was_ looking out for me. Not when it came to this kind of thing. This was too trivial for him. But the shit that really mattered.... All I could think about was holding onto him last night with every ounce of strength in my body, probably to the point that I'd left bruises. And he hadn't said a word. The asshole had left this morning, and a part of me was still furious... but god, last night....

Maybe it showed on my face, because with a resigned smile, Sara set down her knife and fork and slid her plate forward. "I should really get going, Philip. My parents will chew me out if I'm not there when they get back. I've had a great time tonight, though. Thank you." Then, with commendable grace, she slid out of the booth, stepped over to give me a quick kiss on the cheek, and walked out of the restaurant. She didn't leave a number, but it was alright. I wouldn't have called.

Damien never came back the entire day, and I sort of hated him for it.

o o o

Pip was already asleep when I got back in, which was a small blessing. Given that I'd come back in at midnight, of course, that really didn't come as much of a surprise. And since I'd been killing time in town for hours in the _hopes_ that he'd be passed out when I got here.... Not the point. I stepped over to his bedside with a twisted little grin that disappeared the second I actually bent down to put my hand on his shoulder.

"_Pip!_" I whispered urgently, shaking him with enough force to get his attention, but not so violently that I'd get punched in the face as a result. "C'mon, get the hell up!" He rolled over with a bleary expression, face contorting when he realized it was me above him.

"Wuh...?"

"We've got to get out of here. I'm sorry to spring this on you in the middle of the night, but we've got to go. Get up and get your shit together."

Apparently he was still too groggy to take in any of what I was saying. "Wh... why...? What's... going on...?"

"I left a girl here... I don't even remember the slut, but apparently she remembered me. She got a hold of my ID when we ran into one another at the gas station a few blocks down, and there was no way to wrestle the thing away from her with that many witnesses present. The ID's about as real as my credit card is, but it's still got a photo, and if she hands it in...." The story made even less sense when I said it out loud, but I didn't really think Pip was awake enough to properly evaluate that fact. "This is the reason you can't get attached to chicks on the road. We've got to get the hell out of here." With that typically trusting face, he nodded sleepily, all but falling out of the bed in an attempt to get up.

"A... right, just... lemme get my stuff...." If only to speed the process up, I helped him round up everything he'd brought with him – which wasn't really much more than a change of underwear and a toothbrush – and stuff it back into the plastic bag we'd originally come with. I tossed him his sweatshirt, which he pulled on gratefully (though he didn't seem to acknowledge any need for pants), and ushered him out of the room. It was a little like guiding a crippled eighty year old, but the less conscious he was, the better, so I didn't push my luck. We made it to the parking lot without incident, and he allowed himself to be shoved into the nearest car. It was kind of nice, this quiet obedience of his. I resisted the urge to rake my fingers through his hair like I might a dog. It did look incredible in the moonlight, though.

"Thanks. I really am sorry, dragging you out in the middle of the night like this. There's a 7-Eleven right on the edge of town; I'll get us some coffee." He nodded, probably more out of reflex than anything else, and I twisted the key in the ignition.

He slept all the way to the convenience store, and I can't say I didn't feel guilty stepping out and looking over at him all curled up and half-naked in the front seat. This needed to be done, though. I stepped into the 7-Eleven with a polite enough smile for the woman working the graveyard shift behind the counter and made my way over to the coffee. _I_ actually _could_ use the caffeine. Pip... not so much. I poured him a small decaf, though half of it was probably just cream and sugar. I figured he was the kind of guy that ordered a Frappuccino even in the winter. But stirring in those two pills... I couldn't even watch myself do it. God, I was pathetic. Feeling more like a woman – and more like Pip – than I really wanted to, I took the two cups back over to the counter and handed the girl my credit card. Normally, I would've taken some time to fill her up with false hope. Tonight, I was in too much of a rush. I took back my card and got the hell out.

He was drooling against the passenger side door when I came back, and I was tempted just to let him sleep... but natural sleep wouldn't keep him knocked out long enough, and frankly I needed someone to open the door for me. I gave the car a violent kick, which woke him up with a start. He looked around for a few seconds in total confusion before figuring out what I wanted and leaning over to get the door for me. I gave him a curt nod and crawled in, passing him his coffee. "I'm not gonna lie; the coffee's not great. But I'm guessing it's the caffeine you're interested in, anyway." He shot me an appreciative little smile and gratefully accepted the drink, downing about half of it in a second flat.

"Could use some more sugar."

"For fuck's sake, Pip, there's about half a cup in there. Grow some balls." He just grinned and leaned back, eyes closed and expression content.

_Just stay that way for a little while longer_.

Did I feel like shit, lying to him? Yeah. Drugging him? "Shit" probably wasn't a strong enough word. If there'd been a way to go about the whole thing honestly, I would've done it. I didn't want to be just another jerkoff that fed him false promises. But what I needed to go back to South Park for wasn't something he'd condone, or – hell – even turn a blind eye to. He'd stand there with that stupid, ignorant air of morality and try to protect the guy that had broken him down into the miserable, self-loathing kid he was now. But I needed to kill him. I needed to make him bleed. I needed to make him hurt, make him suffer, make him feel all the pain and humiliation that he had made Pip feel. I needed to cut him into pieces so small he couldn't even materialize in my dreams. Pip wouldn't fight this demon on his own. So I'd do it for him.

I'd go crazy if I didn't.

It had to have been at least five hours before Pip woke up, and from the disoriented look in his eyes I could tell he was still lingering under the effects of the pills. It took him three minutes to realize he was in a car, two minutes to figure out that he'd been stowed away in the backseat of this particular one, and about ten to sit up and fight the wave of dizziness that accompanied it. Eventually, though, he did manage to lean forward like a drunkard over my shoulder, several questions spilling out of his mouth almost incoherently.

"Dami... en... what the fuck are we...." He took a brief pause to put a hand to his head. "Wh... what's going—" And then it all snapped back to him. He gestured to an overhead sign, suddenly sober and livid. "Why does that sign say 'Park County?!'"

And then the bowels of hell opened up.


	14. Shift: Reverse

Well that was a great two day vacation I took between updates!

-buys diamonds for anyone who actually had the patience to check up on this insane, insane story-

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen — Shift: Reverse**

"You— you DRUGGED me!"

"Pip—"

"You _DRUGGED_ me!"

"Yeah, listen—"

"YOU _DRUGGED_ ME!"

He pulled over to the shoulder at that point, probably because I chose that moment to lunge up into the front seat, one leg over the passenger side headrest and both arms wrapped around his neck. It was actually a small miracle that I didn't run us off the road completely, though I wasn't entirely sure it would've slowed me down even if we had. Even as we skid to a halt I was trying my damnedest to rip his head off his shoulders. "I can't _believe_ you actually—"

"Pip, for the love of Christ!" I couldn't even appreciate the irony; I was fighting him tooth and nail even as he wrenched himself free of my grasp and escaped out the car door. If he thought he was getting away from me that easily, he was gravely mistaken. I followed him out onto the road and was preparing to launch myself at him again, but the change in altitude apparently didn't agree with whatever he must've slipped into that coffee, and I avoided plummeting face-first into the pavement only by an excellent catch on his part. As soon as I was able to stand on my own, though, I pushed him away from me with excessive force, fighting the beginnings of hysteria.

"You... _drugged_ me...!"

"Yeah," Damien agreed, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. "I think we've established that."

"But why did you— _why?!_" I left the question hanging in the air, unfinished, flailing my arms around insanely. I realized, then, in some sort of slow-motion stupor, that – for whatever reason – I wasn't wearing any pants, and that we were probably attracting the attention of everyone passing us. Damien just let out a long breath, brows creased.

"Because I wanted to save the conversation we're having right now until you didn't have any choice but to keep heading forward."

I gaped stupidly at him. There was no way he had actually just said those words to me. "This is..." I gave him another emphatic wave of the arm, "like _kidnap_, you know that?" He looked as though he were developing a headache, and I hoped it _hurt_. "Why are you dragging me back here? We just _left!_" He shot me a petulant glare, lip curled.

"For fuck's sake, even _you_ can figure that out, can't you?" I pressed my hands to my eyes, trying to quell the panic that was erupting from every cell in my brain. I was going to jail. I was going to be tried as an accomplice for murder. Oh god, I was going to be on the _news_....

"Damien... just... let's just... go back...."

"We're almost there. There's no point in turning around now."

"You don't need to _do_ this!" I begged, reaching instinctively for him. He recoiled, and my pitch climbed even higher. "This is dangerous for you, isn't it? Coming back here? There's no reason that you have to—" I cast around frantically, mind still numbed from the drugs. "Why the hell do you even _care?_"

I knew immediately by the look on his face that I shouldn't have put it like that, shouldn't have said it at all – that I shouldn't have dragged actual emotion into it. "No, wait, that's not what I—"

"You are so full of yourself." Well. That shut me up. Whatever I'd been expecting his response to be, that wasn't it. "I'm not doing this for you."

I opened my mouth wordlessly several times, probably giving off the impression of a red-faced fish out of water. "Then... what are you...?"

"I've got my own shit to settle with these kids. My memories of South Park – and that Cartman asshole – are only coming back piece by piece as you explain them to me." His voice was so direct and nonchalant that I never would've doubted him under normal circumstances. But I'd just woken up in a car I hadn't climbed willingly into, a car I might have _died_ in if he'd given me too heavy a dosage, and... no matter how much I'd wanted to up until this point, I couldn't trust him.

"If that's true," I started, defeat in every word, "then why didn't you just tell me? You didn't have to...." I trailed off, but I didn't need to finish the sentence for him to get the point.

He just shrugged, hands behind his head. "If I come back with you, the association will be obvious to anyone who knows you. Whatever I do or say will be reflected on you. And it has the potential to make things worse for you." God, fuck him for taking this so lightly....

"Do you think I'm that petty? _Quid pro quo_, right? I'm making things harder for you by hanging around, aren't I?" He just smiled at me for the first time since I'd woken up.

"Yeah, but you give me something to do at night. You don't think this is the first time I've slipped you the mickey, do you?" I aimed a kick at his shin, which he dodged spectacularly, laughing out loud.

"Fine. Since, as you've so graciously pointed out, I am now trapped on an interstate highway, I suppose I don't really have much of a choice but to head back to South Park with you. But I'm not going to help you kill or otherwise maim anyone there. You are going to take me back to my home, explain to my parents that you are a suicidal wreck who has pulled through only by the grace of my company, and continue owing me one for the rest of your immortal life."

"Did you at least have pretty dreams?" I made to kick him again; this one connected, and I was satisfied to see him flinch.

"The most _beautiful_."

o o o

I was surprised to find that I was actually... a little bummed to be heading back to South Park. Until Pip had actually said it, the full implications of what I was doing hadn't hit me. Taking Pip home actually meant... taking him home. Once I left him on his front porch, that was it. Our ride was over. And once I packed up and left town... I was out of his life again. It was an ugly bit of irony, wasn't it? I couldn't just shoot shit with this guy anymore. Knowing that Cartman was still out there, still allowed to breathe _oxygen_ just.... My hands clenched involuntarily. Not until I'd righted this wrong could I look Pip in the eye without seeing that bastard's reflection. But once I had? Pip would be gone.

And it was funny. Because this whole thing fucked me over whether I kept traveling east or came back to South Park to tie up these loose ends. I was choosing to come back because I never wanted that mother fucking piece of _shit_ to hurt him again. I was coming back because protecting Pip was something I had to do. And it was sickening, really.

If I cared less – just a _little_ less – I could push Cartman to the back of my mind and never think back on him. I could keep traveling with Pip, making the best of this unorthodox but entertaining relationship. But I'd let myself become attached to this guy. Maybe I'd become attached to him a long time ago. I glanced over at Pip, who was still fuming silently in his seat. Maybe I wasn't all he had, as I'd thought once. Maybe there were others who'd be willing to lay down their safety and their happiness for him. But I felt compelled nonetheless to stand by his side. If this was the part I had to play in his life... so be it.

"We're almost here," Pip announced beside of me, and his voice shattered my train of thought. "I recognize this road. You need to turn left at the intersection."

"I am taking you back home, then?" Why were those words so painful to force out?

"If we're going back to South Park, I don't see how there's much of an option otherwise. It's a small town. It certainly doesn't have a _hotel_."

I shrugged without turning to face him. "Then I don't see the problem with staying in a place outside of town. You won't be running into anyone you know." Pip laughed derisively.

"So, what? You head into town to pay a visit to all my classmates while I just hide out somewhere? For all you know, I could be listed as a missing child in this state by now. You're taking a gamble by coming back here. Don't make it any more complicated than it already is."

You have _no_ idea, Pip. "You'd better have a solid alibi, then."

"Weirder things have happened in this town than kids going missing for a week." It was hard to argue that point when he was sitting right next to the antichrist. "Rumors will spread about where and what and _who_ I've been doing, but I doubt anyone will really believe anything more scintillating than that I ran chickenshit away from the uncomfortable amount of attention I was getting after that blow to the head."

"That's the story you're going to tell?"

"Hell no. I'm going to tell the same story I told my parents. That's just the story that people will read between the lines." I chanced a wary look over at him. His expression was actually aggravating in its confidence.

"You seem awfully sure of this."

"The people in this town aren't really that hard to peg. And they've got my character all figured out." I raised an eyebrow.

"Do they?"

"Not really. But knowing how they look at me makes it easier to live up to or disappoint that stereotype." I laughed abruptly as we turned the corner.

"You know something... you're as bad as I am."

And he seemed bizarrely pleased with what I had never meant to be a compliment. He had the same smile plastered to his face throughout his entire oration of the street system of Park County. The truth was, I knew these roads, too. I just didn't know which ones led back to Pip's home. And as we drove deeper into the residential neighborhoods, the knot in my stomach that I was quickly beginning to hate grew tighter. "Alright... keep going straight past this stop sign, then turn right at the next fork. My house is on that lane. And hand me my pants. My foster parents might send me back if I step out of this car half naked with another guy in tow."

"They're at your feet," I growled out, trying to ignore the fact that I was beginning to feel physically sick. "In that bag. As much as I'd love to rummage around for them with my head in your crotch, I'm trying to drive." He blew me a raspberry and bent down. The ensuing squirming that was a result of him trying to squeeze into his jeans while still strapped down by a seatbelt (and sometimes I worried about his intelligence) did help to brighten my demeanor, though.

It all went straight back to hell as we turned onto his street, however. "Here!" he shouted, all but jumping up in his seat. He looked like a twelve-year-old, and I had to suffocate the urge to reach over and punch him. "The ugly one with all the mums in front!" We pulled slowly – and not without some reluctance – into the driveway, and Pip bolted right out of the car. For someone who had been so eager to run away with me only a few days ago, the guy certainly seemed to be excited to be back home. He hadn't even made it up the walkway when the front door burst open. The portly couple that stood in the doorway looked ready to tell off whatever punk had just pulled into their driveway, but their expressions were wiped clean immediately the moment they laid eyes on the blonde kid racing towards them.

"Oh my god... _Pi_—"

He didn't even give the woman time to finish her sentence. In a split second, he had launched himself onto her, nearly knocking her backwards with the force. When they finally drew apart, I could see her face glistening with tears. I silently prayed that Pip wasn't such a fag. "I'm _so sorry_," he panted, and it was a relief to hear that he was breathless but otherwise coherent. "You have no idea how much—"

"Hell you've put us through?" The man's voice was stern, but even his face was flushed with emotion. For fuck's sake, no wonder the kid was such a nancy. "Deborah and I have been absolutely sick with worry... we were so afraid something had happened to you...."

"It's okay, dad," he reassured the man with a smile and a one-armed hug, and it struck me as funny how affectionate he was with what was legally only his foster family. Of course, I guess it was the closest thing he'd ever had to a real one. "I'm fine. I just needed to spend a little time with someone who wasn't." Pip shot me a severe look from his doorstep, and I guessed that was my cue.

Stepping out of the car, I wondered how well I'd really be able to smooth over this situation. I didn't give off the same sweet, boy-next-door vibe that Pip did. On the contrary, my black hair and naturally pale skin were prone to attract latex fetishists and store detectives. At least my clothes didn't look as bad as his did. "Mr. and Mrs.—" Pip mouthed the name to me "—McPherson?" The couple pulled themselves from the boy they'd never bothered to legally adopt and fixed their stares on me. Urgh. It was way too early on in the relationship to be meeting the parents. "Hi." I extended a hand, and Mr. McPherson reluctantly took it. "I'm Damien. I dunno if Pip's ever mentioned me...."

"He hasn't." No shit?

"I'm not really surprised...." I shifted my weight and let out a nervous chuckle so cutesy it might've come from Pip. I really hoped he appreciated this bullshit. "Until recently, the two of us hadn't spoken for years... we sort of split ways in high school. I made a few decisions I'm not too proud of, and Pip didn't want to get dragged down with me." I rubbed the inner elbow of my left arm. Sure, I could be a heroine junkie. "But things have... really spun out of control recently. And I just... came to Pip out of instinct. I apologize for everything that's happened this week, I really do. I didn't plan on keeping him chained up for so long. But I was such a wreck, and let me tell you, your son's a decent guy. He wouldn't get out until he was absolutely sure I wouldn't do something stupid the moment his back was turned." I threw in another nervous laugh and a shy glance at Pip. He was tomato red. "I understand if you're furious. My parents would've beat the crap out of me... but Pip was just doing what he thought was right. And as selfish as it was on my part... I'm glad he did."

Pip looked like he was about to die from humiliation, he really did. But his parents were glowing with barely suppressed pride. "Listen, we're glad Pip was able to help you out, Damien. But you two have turned the whole town upside-down. Pip, for one, is going to have a _lot_ of explaining to do at school." Sorry, Pip. Couldn't help you out, there. "The next time you need him for something like this.... Please. Both of you. Give us some sort of heads up." I bowed my head respectfully, repentance all over my face.

"Hopefully, this'll have been a one-time thing." Saying it hurt. It physically hurt. Because I knew Pip would do everything in his power to solidify this lie. That this really would be a one-time thing. Fuck me.... "Thank you both for your understanding... and let me just tell you again how sorry I am for this whole mess. I'm sure Pip will have some groveling to do once I'm gone, too." I chanced a smile, and wasn't met with any rude hand gestures. Well, that much was a success, then. "And... I really should shut up and get going. Pip...." The look on my face was genuine for the first time in this whole ridiculous speech. "I'll see you around."

"O-oh... yeah. See you." He gave me a weak little wave, cheeks still red. "Later, Damien."

"Later."

I got back onto the main road feeling nauseous, dizzy, and embarrassed for feeling both of the above. It was pathetic, it really was. What the fuck was I here for if not this kid? This was exactly what I'd chosen when I drugged him up in the first place. The uncomfortably unfamiliar twinge of regret working its way through my nervous system was making me want to slam the car into the nearest tree. Why did this matter so much... why did any of this matter to me?

"_You are so sad_."

"... I know."

o o o

Well, there was still some screaming, and a lot of hysterical tears, but it was obvious nonetheless that Damien had done the best he could in the given situation. I sat through my dad's raving lecture with a set jaw as my mother sobbed on the couch beside of me. But things would be alright. They were both furious that I had disappeared for a week of my own volition, but more than that they were just blowing off all the concern that had been pent up inside of them during the aforementioned week. It was kind of gratifying, in a way, to know that there were people who had worried about me.

I did, however, escape up to my bedroom the second I had the chance. As grateful as I was that my parents hadn't ripped me limb from limb, and as relieved as I was to see them again... it would be a lie to say that the ordeal wasn't stressing me to the breaking point. There were still a lot of things that had to be resolved, family aside. I had to explain my extended absence to the school – which, if I was going to stick to my original story, would now have to be filed as truancy. If I had in fact been listed as a missing person, I'd have to clear my name of that, too, probably to the irritation of the local P.D. Finally... I'd have to deal with the repercussions of my stint in Middle Park.

That one was making me queasy. Breaking into the school would have been bad enough, but after being rushed to the emergency room afterwards, I had not only lied about my identity, but had made myself a prime suspect for both Damien's credit fraud and admittedly impressive vandalism. I really had only two hopes on this one. The first was that Damien would be able to recover all records that I had ever been to that high school or hospital and send it up in flame.

The second was that I was seventeen, and would be tried as a juvenile.

I wondered if maybe letting my parents believe I'd been kidnaped wouldn't have been the best idea after all. When I'd made that first phone call, I had just wanted to alleviate their worry. Now that I was actually back home and ready to face up to all the shit I'd buried myself in... Damien was looking like a pretty appealing scapegoat. It's not like they'd _catch_ him. The guy didn't even leave viable DNA behind him. But he'd have to leave South Park, and....

I curled up onto my side, wrinkling the bed sheets that I'd jumped into without even taking off my shoes. It was nice to be back home, to be in my own bed again. It really was. And with only a week on me, maybe this whole thing would be able to blow over. But running off with Damien had been the first really _wild_ thing I'd ever done in my life, and I wasn't so sure I really _wanted_ it to blow over. I'd thought, fleetingly, that Damien had come back to this place on my behalf, but he'd quickly shot down that idea with an even less likely one. The truth was that this whole thing was looking like a poorly disguised attempt to get me off his back for good. But if that's what this was... shit... why had he taken me with him in the first place?

Maybe everything _had_ been a lie. Maybe this was the kind of thing he did on a regular basis. Maybe this was just how he entertained himself while he endlessly watched time tick by. Maybe my turn in the rotation was simply over. But I couldn't believe it, not even with my self confidence as low as it was. I'd seen the terror in his eyes that night he grabbed me in the motel; I'd felt the hammer of his heartbeat when I embraced him from behind. I couldn't believe that I didn't mean something to him.

And I knew for a goddamn fact he meant something to me.

The truth was, the time we'd spent together – even as kids – added up to less than an entire month. It was ridiculous to be so attached to someone who was, essentially, a complete stranger. But he'd been my obsession for the past nine years. Having him beside of me had felt like achieving some trophy I'd been coveting all my life. Having him look at me like a friend was bliss. I'd finally captured him. I never wanted to let him go.

But things rarely work out so romantically. Maybe for the best, he'd brought me back home, and now I absolutely could not leave again. He, on the other hand, absolutely could not stay. If he kept his nose clean – and I highly doubted that – perhaps he would be able to return every so often as he'd been doing for the past decade... but he'd made it perfectly clear to me that he never settled anywhere. Sooner or later, he would go. And he had to have known it. God damn it, he _had_ to have known! I dug the heels of my palms into my eyes until I saw white.

I wanted to believe so many things at once. I wanted to believe that Damien had come back to South Park prematurely in order to right a wrong that had nothing to do with him. I wanted to believe that this uncharacteristic behavior was the result of our relationship and not the sloppy end of it. I wanted to believe that it broke him into pieces to tell me "good-bye," even if my perverse obsession with him was entirely unrequited. I wanted to believe that he would've kept me by his side. But I couldn't reconcile any of these things with one another.

The pathetic thing was, I might have been happy just to keep traveling aimlessly with him, never looking back on Park County or the memories and responsibilities tied to it. Maybe I would have become as desensitized to things like "home"and "family" as he was, and the two of us could've had the time of our lives wasting away into oblivion together. But he'd dug up nine years of self-pity and self-loathing and dragged me back to the place that gave birth to it all. If he had come back here on my account, as I wanted so badly to believe... at least he had done it with the cruelty so characteristic of him.

I broke down into tears at the dinner table that evening, and when my mother rushed over to comfort me I latched onto her like a little kid.

o o o

I wasn't feeling cautious. I hardly even felt awake. I drove the car straight into a tree and walked the rest of the way to the nearest establishment that sold alcohol. I really had no fondness for drinking at all, but the sickness washing over me was humiliating and unbearable, so much so that if I couldn't get my mind off it I thought I might go insane. And that was a dangerous prospect.

It didn't take me long to remember why I didn't drink; the bar was littered with drawling rednecks who could've walked right out of a Blue Collar Comedy show. But the more shots I downed, the less repulsive they seemed to me. I don't remember how much alcohol I had consumed when I actually started speaking to them.

"Well, don'chu look like a sack o' shit, honey," laughed a woman way too old to be dressed like she was – or to be interested in me. I didn't know when she'd taken the seat next to me, but she was straddling the stool without any regard to the fact that she was wearing a miniskirt and no underwear.

"If that's a pick-up line, it's the worst I've ever heard," I replied with a glowering look. She just threw back her head and laughed.

"I can make you forget all about 'er."

If I was sober, I wouldn't even have dignified her assumption with a response. But I was drunk and dizzy and frustrated and I wanted to be anywhere but here. When she reached over to touch me, I didn't flinch away.

"Let's go."

And we did. But two steps into her dingy little apartment I slammed her so hard against the wall I actually heard the splatter. I laughed until tears were streaming down my face and passed out in a pool of blood.

As I drifted in and out of consciousness on the carpet, I saw a girl. She approached me just like the woman whose corpse I had collapsed on top of, but she was younger and infinitely more beautiful. She was mesmerizing. My vision was too blurry to make out my surroundings, but there was clearly alcohol here, too; I could smell whiskey on her. I, however, could not have cared less.

"You look like shit," she purred, tilting her head back so she could keep her lashes lowered. She'd had enough to drink that her cheeks were slightly flushed, but I could tell from the movement of her eyes that her vision was in perfect focus. She wasn't here to get drunk. She was here to get laid.

"Then why the hell are you talking to me?" I chuckled. I didn't have to lean back to keep my gaze low.

"Because you look like you're ready to throw a punch. And tonight, I'm feeling ready to take one." For a moment, something like sorrow flashed across her face, but she recovered with finesse; when she stooped down to pull me to my feet, the miniskirt was a gift from God. "I don't know how good a girl she was... but I'll make you forget all about her."

I wondered, as I fucked her mercilessly into the wall, if maybe I'd crossed paths with a sister or cousin of hers at some point. There was something so familiar about this girl, but I knew that I'd never met her before in my life. If I had, we would've wound up like this, rutting against peeling wallpaper while she howled my name into the drywall. As anything but a warm body, she might very well have been worthless, but those long legs and hourglass curves and that beautiful, beautiful blonde hair... they just couldn't go unpunished. Skin to skin, I could tell that the hair color wasn't natural, but it looked so damn good wrapped around my knuckles that I didn't care.

As the minutes wore on, I contemplated simply letting her leave when it was all over. She might be worth coming back to for seconds. (It occurred to me that maybe that had already happened and was the reason she seemed so familiar.) But when I pulled out, she turned around to kiss me, and any plan of letting her live evaporated. Natural reflex took over, and an invisible current hit her like a brick wall; when she hit the floor, it looked as though someone had slammed a wrecking ball into her chest. Staring stupidly at the girl in a state of both shock and – to a lesser degree – awe, I noticed that a few strands of her blonde hair were still clinging to the bloody wall... and something about the sight set loose an inferno in me.

It shouldn't have affected me at all. Blood didn't affect me. But suddenly... suddenly all I could see was fire, and all I could hear were screams. I fell to my knees instantly, clapping my hands over my ears and clenching my eyes shut to block out this hallucinatory overreaction. Blood... it was only blood.... But even with my eyes closed I could see the flames stretching up towards the ceiling, the tattered paper peeling away from the wall as it burned a brilliant blue. Even with my hands over my ears I could hear the screaming. What was this?! What the fuck was this?! Blood and fire and blonde hair and—

It was her.

I whipped around violently and scrambled towards her on my hands and knees. It was her, this girl who'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong guy, face frozen in an expression of mild surprise, blue eyes just a little wider than usual. There was no other explanation; whatever the hell this apparition was, she had unleashed it. But those weren't her screams in the background, and what was making my skin crawl wasn't her blood on the wall. No... I knew with inexplicable certainty that this pale-eyed corpse staring at and through me was no more than a catalyst. And the higher the flames climbed up the wall, the more I began to realize that the nightmare she'd triggered was one I'd had before, one I instinctively knew I didn't want to remember and didn't want to relive. Well... ha ha ha... this was an easy problem to resolve, wasn't it?! When the smell of smoke began flooding my nostrils, I raised my arm and slammed my fist into her face – over and over again – until it was nothing but a bloody pulp.

But that wasn't enough to stop it. Her blood was everywhere, now, and her hair was matted with it but still recognizable as that blonde mane of hers, and her eyes... her _eyes_.... They shouldn't have been anything but a smear on the carpet, now, but I could still see them boring into me... and there were a million of them. All around me were female corpses in various states of decomposition, one piled on top of the other, and all of them were leering at me with the same glassy blue eyes. I leapt to my feet and spun around in a frantic circle as more and more blinked into view. Along the ceiling, the flames burned ever brighter. _You,_ the corpses whispered, eyes full of mirth, and I realized with something like nausea that every one of them had blonde hair. I wanted to run, but I was frozen in place. _You never forgot at all_. _You've known all along_.

_No,_ I told myself with furious conviction, blinded by a sudden explosion of light. _I have no idea what the hell this is_.

_Don't you?_ they laughed. _Oh, I'm sure you forget _us. _But we're all the same person; there would be no point in remembering names or faces_. All the same... of course they were all the same.... _No_. _The memory you're committed to is much older than that_. _And you are so very committed_.

_I don't know what you're talking about,_ I thought helplessly. _There is no memory I've been clinging to_. _I don't even know— _

_How ashamed your father would be,_ they cackled,.and I could feel their gaze even if I couldn't see it. Somewhere, far away, someone was still screaming. _How badly you've been longing for something you can never have_. _How desperately you've been yearning for one more taste of something you cast away from you long ago_. Their voices inside my head made my eardrums throb. I clapped my hands over my ears again, but it was no more effective at drowning out the noise than it had been at silencing the screaming. _How pitifully you've lied to yourself_. The body at my feet wrapped a hand around my leg and pulled herself up into a kneeling position, pressing the bloody remains of her face against my thigh. I could feel her breathing.

"If it were the guilt you were attracted to," she asked, "you could live with yourself, couldn't you?" I could hear the smile in her voice even though I was sure I would never be able to see again. I never wanted to see again. "But you know better than that. It's why you've repressed the few memories you've been able to retain. And even then, you've come running every time one of us has snapped our fingers. But you poor, poor boy...." I had beaten her face beyond recognition, but I could feel the cavity of her mouth where lips must once have been crushing against my skin. "It was never us you wanted... was it, Damien?"

"No," I choked out breathlessly as she clawed her way up my body. "It wasn't." And this time, when I kissed Death, it was of my own volition.

When I woke up with a violent jolt I realized with no small degree of horror that the seat of my pants was soaking wet. For the first time in my life, I prayed that I'd pissed myself. But humiliation had to take a backseat to nausea – at least for now. Covered in blood and what I hoped was just urine, I ran out of the apartment with my eyes glued on the carpet, careful to avoid anything resembling a reflective surface... but I heard him hissing at me anyway.

"_You've been fucking him all along_."


End file.
